


Like the palm of my hand

by Trakn



Category: Kingsman (Movies), Mr. and Mrs. Smith (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Eggsy Unwin, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Everyone Is Alive, Identity Porn, M/M, Miscommunication, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24817198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trakn/pseuds/Trakn
Summary: Mr. and Mr. Smith’s relationship started off wonderful: a whirlwind romance that kicked off in Mexico and culminated in a happy marriage. After five years though, their marriage is starting to crumble, and they try couples therapy in a last-ditch effort to save it. Things are rarely that easy for two secret agents.OrThe Mr & Mrs Smith AU where Eggsy Unwin is a Statesman agent, Harry Hart a Kingsman agent, and neither know they’re a secret agent since they meet while undercover. They fall in love anyway and get married, though their marriage gets strained as they both pretend to be nothing other than a perfectly boring normal bloke. But then Eggsy gets identified on a mission and he makes a choice that sets off a series of events that leads Harry to discover just who exactly he married. And also, what the hell is Richmond Valentine up to exactly?
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin
Comments: 46
Kudos: 106





	1. Is it worth it? (it has to be)

**Author's Note:**

> Unlike my last massive failure where i lost steam midway through my fic, i've actually finished this (YAY ME!)  
> that being said though, i don't have regular access to a laptop with internet access so there might be a whole month between updates or a week. i also feel obligated to say that i tend to get wrapped up in the COVID-19 crisis going on along with the crumbling of modern society so i might drop off for even longer periods of time but fear not, i will not abandon this work (unless i die in which case idk?????)
> 
> I'm latin american so i will have to drop my obligatory english is my second language disclaimer for any mistakes made. I also don't have a beta so there's that. And i gave Brit English my best shot, though this isn't brit-picked. I do appreciate all CC though please take it easy on me since im also a very soft emotional human :s

The bloke in front of Eggsy looks like such a right berk that he can’t help but feel defensive from the moment he walks in the door. But he’s the fucking idiot who _wants_ to fix his failing marriage, so he sucks it up and settles on the stiff settee across from the therapist Gin had managed to find for him. Though fuck if he knows why she thought Eggsy would be comfortable with the sod.

“Henry, my husband, should be here any moment.” Eggsy says after a couple of moments of uncomfortable silence.

The bloke merely nods, his expression still looking priggish. Jesus, is that how a therapist is supposed to be? Almost makes Eggsy want to escape like his arse is on fire and let Henry keep them in perpetual limbo. But his mum didn’t raise no quitter, so he grits his teeth and tries to find a more comfortable spot for his bruised arse. Plus, if he has to live another day with Henry’s polite but aloof reserve, he’s liable to finally lose his fucking mind and throw Mr. Pickles into his husband’s face.

And that would be a disgrace. Mostly because despite being taxidermized, Mr. Pickle deserves more than to be another pawn in the cold chessboard that his marriage has become. Besides, after five years of brushing the little dog’s fur so that it doesn’t get dusty, he kinda grew on Eggsy.

And anyway, where the fuck is his husband?

He takes out his phone with an apologetic glance at the therapist, though the other now has his nose buried in a book and doesn’t even notice. Eggsy rolls his eyes. Figures.

**Eggsy: where the fuck r u?**

**Eggsy: did u fuckin forget?**

**Eggsy: Henry, todays our fucking couples therapy u wanker!**

Blue checkmarks appear next to his messages almost simultaneously as he sends them and Eggsy barely refrains from growling out a string of expletives. Then finally, Henry starts typing.

**Henry: I apologize, dear, something came up at work, but I will be there within twenty minutes.**

**Eggsy: swear down if u aint here in 20 min,**

**Eggsy: I’m fuckin movin out.**

**Eggsy: I ain’t jokin henry**

Henry reads the messages but doesn’t reply. Fucking figures, the sod. Eggsy swallows past the sudden lump in his throat. Even though his marriage is crumbling around his ears, he doesn’t want to leave Henry. They’d had a good three years before something changed, shifting their previously warm home into a frigid no-man’s land.

Once upon a time, they’d been inseparable, their sappy honeymoon phase lasting far longer than usual couples. No fights, well no fights about anything serious, and always making time for each other despite their hectic schedule. Hell, Eggsy had switched off on more than one boring recon just to stay local. Now there are days when Eggsy begs Gin to send him somewhere remote at least once a month because he can’t stand it anymore.

Of course, this had the unwanted side-effect of Henry thinking Eggsy was cheating.

A sudden knock on the door jerks Eggsy’s attention back to the present. Henry’s lithe figure is in the doorway, perfectly composed as always in an elegant bespoke suit. He meets Eggsy’s gaze for a moment before turning to the therapist.

“Apologies for my tardiness.” Henry says. “Am I still in time for our session?”

Eggsy narrows his eyes at him, though Henry pretends he doesn’t see him. The fucking wanker could plainly see that the therapist gave zero fucks about the situation.

“Of course, Mr. Smith, come in.” The therapist perks up at the sight Henry, who nods at him before stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. Eggsy tries to avoid feeling trapped now that Henry’s finally here.

Instead, the feeling triples when Henry takes a seat next to him. Which is fucking stupid because where else is he supposed to sit?

“Very well, let’s begin shall we. I’m Ernest Milton. You may call me Ernest if you like, but Milton is fine as well.” He contemplates the two of them, probably already drawing so many conclusions from the way they sit stiffly, trying not touch despite the close quarters. “Tell me about yourselves. What brings you to couples therapy?”

Eggsy glances at Henry who looks as politely disinterested to share something about himself as usual and sighs. “Name’s John Smith, you can call me John if you want. And I’ve been married to this bloke here for five years. Things have been…. ah, difficult the last couple of years. We decided we didn’t want a divorce yet so here we are.”

The therapist nods. “Thank you, John. What about you Mr. Smith?”

Henry expression is still that of polite reserve, though Eggsy can see the minute clenching of his jaw before he speaks. Doesn’t surprise Eggsy though, Henry had been against therapy in the beginning. Wanted to repress it all like a good little Englishman. Changed his tune quickly enough though. All it took was Eggsy telling him that he better fucking sign the divorce papers as soon as he gets them then, ‘cause he ain’t gonna stay when Henry don’t want to put in some effort.

“My name is Henry Smith, though I prefer to be addressed by my first name as well. Personally, I believe that we can work through this on our own. No marriage is perfect after all.”

Ernest seems to sense that Eggsy is about to explode because he smoothly cuts in. “How did you meet each other?”


	2. Nostalgia colours our memories (makes it better)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a flashback scene from Eggsy pov
> 
> so i kinda went from 0 to 100 in this chapter but still managed to chicken out to go all the way lmao
> 
> the next chapter will be from Harry's (!!!)

Eggsy is absolutely enchanted with Mexico. Mostly warm, with loads of easy-going people, and delicious food, Mexico is hands down one of the best vacation destinations ever. But Bacalar, hell, the whole state of Quintana Roo is easily his favourite. It’s like he can’t take a step without stumbling into a paradise. There’s Mahahual, the lagoon of seven colours, and the humbling ruins of Tulum.

But, gorgeous setting aside, a blokes gotta do what a blokes gotta do. So, he shimmies into his favourite pair of clubbing trousers, the ones that make his arse look indecent, gives himself a short pep talk in the bathroom mirror before grabbing his glasses and leaves. It’s barely getting dark, but the club is already brimming with life, the thumping bass loudly proclaiming that it’s open for business. There’s a long line of chattering locals at the entrance, but he swans past them without a second glance.

The bouncer gives him a glance over and Eggsy smiles. “Hola, ando conociendo el lugar.” He stares at Eggsy just a second longer before smiling.

“Bienvenido.” And just like that, Eggsy’s in.

He walks past the gyrating bodies on the dance floor, heading straight for the terrace level where the bar is at. Not that he makes it directly there. He makes sure to brush up against a couple of blokes, throw a couple of smiles at those who look interested, and by the time he’s at the bar, there’s a handsome bloke already there with a drink.

“¿Hablas español?” The bloke says with an easy grin. He’s fit, no doubt about it, with the burnished copper skin of the locals and plenty of rippling muscle that’s barely contained by the polo he wears.

Eggsy smiles back, clearly amenable to his advances. “Poquito. ¿Hablas inglés?”

“Just enough.” The man replies, his words charmingly laced with an accent. Between his looks and that voice, the bloke probably sees Eggsy as a done thing. “My name is Javier. What is yours?”

“John.” Eggsy says, taking the other man’s proffered hand without missing a beat. “John Smith.”

Flirting is second nature to Eggsy, something easy and good-natured enough that Javier doesn’t think twice about offering him a drink. Of course, he accepts and just like that, he’s got his mark reeled in. They sip at their drinks, chatting while Javier gets increasingly bolder. Eggsy smirks and touches the rim of Javier’s glass, enjoying the way the other man’s eyes darken with intent when he sees Eggsy lick his lips. That’s it, wanker, look at pretty Eggsy. Don’t pay attention at all to the slight fizz that the drink suddenly produces.

He’s smiling and flirting with Javier, making sure that the idiot cartel leader gulps down every drop of his drink, when his hindbrain senses something out of place. There’s movement out in the corner of his eye, which catches his attention for a moment, and since Javier has finished his drink, he allows himself to look.

The only reason he doesn’t let his jaw-drop to the floor is because he’s a fucking professional. Sticking out like a sore thumb in an elegant, clearly bespoke, suit, an older gentleman (because shit if he ain’t the very image of a gentleman) rakes his eyes over Eggsy with clear appreciation.

If Eggsy flexes under that heated brown gaze, then shit, just cock it up to him going the extra mile for this assignment.

A sudden cough beside him brings his attention to his less enjoyable partner. Javier flicks his glance at the suited man that caught Eggsy’s attention before frowning. “I thought this club was for the young people.”

Eggsy feels a flash of irritation that he doesn’t allow to show on his face. He keeps an easy-going expression on his pretty mug. “Pity ain’t it?” he doesn’t let the other mull over his response. “Look, mate, I pre-gamed this shit so I gotta go take a piss. Be back in a mo, yeah?”

He’s barely gone a couple of metres when the doors slam open. Ah shit. He doesn’t waste a moment looking back. Javier’s bodyguards must have finally caught up to the sleazy fucker, so time to fucking hoof it.

He slips between the bodies of the suddenly quiet clubbers, taking advantage of the still dim lighting and loud music, quickly escaping out of the fire escape he’d seen on the blueprints before coming in. He slinks off into the shadows, touching his necklace for reassurance as he settles in to see if anyone follows him out.

To his surprise, it’s the older bloke from earlier that stumbles out of the door. He tenses and strides forward on silent feet, fingering the beads on his wrist he draws close. Then a shot rings out from within the club and the man’s expression becomes even more anxious.

He lets go of his bracelet but doesn’t stop his advance. There’s a warning in his ear but he ignores it, as he usually does whenever inspiration strikes. Instead, he shoves his glasses to the top of his head and taps on the bloke’s shoulder.

Taking in the suddenly tense posture and the quick turnabout, Eggsy assumes his best non-threatening air. Which considering that he’s nearly always the one sent in for the ‘soft’ assignments, means he can pull off harmless civilian pretty damn well. With his expression appropriately innocuous, Eggsy opens his mouth and lets his silver tongue do his work for him. The crisp accent and deep voice in which the bloke responds makes him suddenly reconsider his plan to head straight to jet. Jesus, he’s really the full package ain’t he?

And nobody had ever accused Eggsy of denying himself a good fucking time.

He flirts right back at the man, much more obvious in his attraction than the older male, and pushes just the right buttons until the bloke, Henry, finally cracks.

And Christ, seeing the seemingly strait-laced toff lose his poise over _Eggsy_ is hot as all fucking hell. Henry doesn’t waste a moment, going from 0 to 100 with searing, wet kisses that make embarrassing whines fall from Eggsy’s lips unbidden. Then he slots his thigh between Eggsy, pressing his devastating lips to his throat, and Eggsy shameless grinds into the taller man’s figure with a heated moan.

He’d been just a suggestion away from dropping his trousers in a dingy alley for a stranger when the police come to his rescue.

Yeah, he understands irony, thank you very fucking much.

“Come back to my hotel with me?” He says instead of dwelling on his previous gratitude to the local pigs.

Henry had had frustration written on his face when Eggsy had pulled back, though he’d been too polite to voice his probable suspicion that Eggsy was trying to stop. Piss poor delusion, though. As if Eggsy would let this fucking gorgeous bloke slip through his fingers without a thorough shag.

Thankfully, Henry seems to be just as eager to get his prick up Eggsy’s arse as Eggsy is to feel it, because he agrees flatteringly quickly. They share another heated snog against the side of Henry’s Audi because fuck, the thought of Henry in that fucking car gets Eggsy’s cock going all over again.

Fuck it, Eggsy thinks, that shitty rental is gonna have to survive tonight on its lonesome. “Henry,” He says in strangled tone, pushing feebly at Harry’s chest. Still, Henry stops, just as he suspected, the sap. At the sight of the previously prim figure looking debauched with his swollen lips and messy curls, Eggsy gets side-tracked and tugs him flush against him all over again.

It’s only when a couple of loud passers-by interrupt them with lewd remarks in Spanish that Eggsy remembers what he’d been about to say.

“Henry,” Eggsy says firmly before he gets distracted again. “You’re gonna have to drive me to my hotel ‘cause I ain’t gonna be able to focus with me cock in the state it is.”

They both look down at Eggsy’s crotch before looking at each other again. Henry’s gaze is so wickedly dark that Eggsy swears his cock gets even harder.

“It would be my fucking pleasure, John.” The pleasing rumble of Henry’s voice almost distracts him from the suitable mediocre name they’d given his cover. Almost.

Eggsy ignores the sudden pang of desire of hearing Henry’s posh voice moaning his real name in his bed, of seeing Henry’s lean figure on his comfortable king bed at home, because Jesus, this is just a quick fuck with a devastatingly handsome stranger not a fucking marriage proposal.

He covers his internal faux pas with another snog, effectively bringing his thoughts back to the very deliciously sexy present, before sliding into the passenger seat. Henry settles in the driver’s seat, looking so fucking delectable with his easy, confident demeanour as he drives. Eggsy shamelessly drinks in Henry’s elegant profile and self-assured posture, letting a smirk rise when he sees Henry shift to try to accommodate his still very much present erection, but he doesn’t break the charged silence between them, doesn’t even try to diffuse the sexual tension.

Must be his masochistic streak.

Henry side-eyes him at times but doesn’t say a word either, the little sadistic shit. The ride to the hotel seems to pass in a blur, and once they’re in the elevator, Henry presses him against the wall as soon as the doors close. He kisses Eggsy like he’s starving, which of course only serves to inflame Eggsy even more because fuck, someone like _him_ wanting a bit of rough like Eggsy?

Maybe Eggsy is a fucking idiot but shit, Henry’s clear appreciation for him, even if it is just his body, makes him want to blow the other man’s mind. Make this, make _Eggsy_ , so unforgettable he’ll have it seared in his memory just like Eggsy will.


	3. Dancing is better with a partner (but not like this)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an introspective look into Harry's thoughts on their marriage
> 
> Also I'm not sure if I should post Harry's POV of their meeting, I have it written out but I also feel like it might interrupt the flow of the story. Let me know what you think! ❤️

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a short chapter. I had a difficult time trying to get into Harry's headspace for this so >.< i'm sorry for the trash.

Harry shite day starts off from the moment he wakes up to see that John wasn’t in their bed. Judging by the muted snores coming through the wall, his husband decided to sleep in the guest room when he finally stumbled in last night. Promptly livid, he’s two seconds away from knocking on John’s door to confront him when he remembers.

 _“I ain’t cheating on you, Hen_. _” John’s eyes are expressive as always, leaving no doubt that he’s telling the truth. Harry shocks himself by wishing that it weren’t the case._

_Instead, Harry is forced to come to terms that his worst fear has come true._

_John has finally realized that Harry is too old, too stuffy, too…much the opposite of John’s still youthful personality. That Harry just isn’t enough for someone like John._

Harry turns away from the guest room door with a sigh and instead shuffles downstairs to the kitchen. He sets the kettle on the stove before turning to the fridge for the ingredients of a proper fry up, just as John likes it. It’s a rare enough occasion nowadays that John is home so it warrants the effort.

Honestly, John’s work is ridiculously full of business trips around the world at a moment’s notice. Who could have guessed that a distillery accountant needed to jaunt around the globe like some sort of an international grasshopper? In fact, Harry’s dear husband flies out almost as much as a Kingsman. Harry would go as far as to say that John was out almost as frequently as Lancelot, their newest and most successful agent, besides Harry of course. If he didn’t know any better, he’d suspect that John might be a spy as well.

But he does know better, and honestly the idea of _John_ , clumsy sweet John, be as dangerous as a Kingsman or an MI6 agent is just ridiculous. That’s without even taking into account the transparency that is a staple in his husband’s personality. Besides, Merlin did the background check on him himself and nothing gets past that old goat.

Harry sort of wishes his best friend weren’t so effortlessly sharp though.

It would at least reduce the amount of times Merlin berates him for staying with John despite their increasingly colder marriage. Somehow, he’s now surpassed the fretting that he’d done when Harry had dropped the news of his relationship with John in the first place.

To be completely honest with himself, Harry had his own misgivings in the beginning. Starting a relationship with a civilian, much less a civilian he’d met on a mission, had always been frowned upon in Kingsman. Telling the truth about Kingsman to a civilian spouse is strictly prohibited. Naturally, any relationship under that type of strain would be extremely difficult to sustain, something that had previously put Harry off from pursuing anyone. But John wormed his way into Harry’s heart and took up residence before Harry could nip his attraction in the bud. The distance hadn’t seemed like an obstacle back then. They had each made sure to be on the same continent so they could see each other at least once a month. Their sex life had been insane: in various places and positions that Harry had thrown his back out more than once. Which would have been fine, it’s not like Harry’s never had sex before, except they also talked about serious things like how Harry’s childhood and John’s life on the streets. And then their relationship suddenly wasn’t just a casual hook-up thing. Then Harry was in love.

Harry’s usual reserve went out the window and he proposed, uncaring if he’d never be able to reveal his real name so long as he’s with him. As long as he’s with John, his husband could call him Mary if he wanted to. Judging from John’s shiny eyes and wondrous expression as he stammered out his acceptance to his proposal, Harry’s feelings weren’t one-sided.

Not that it mattered now, though.

Not now that they barely talk to each other despite living in the same home.

Harry sighs over the stove. Where did they go wrong?

Now in a sulky mood, he cooks with a heavy heart. John probably won’t stay for breakfast anyway. A sudden clatter above him catches his attention, followed by the tell-tale thumps of John’s footsteps as he dashes off to the bathroom, making him frown deeply in discontentment.

Seems like he guessed it on the first try.

“Do you have to go to work today?” Harry says when John barges into the kitchen, face already drawn with stress despite the early hour.

John nods distractedly, not even noticing Harry’s cooking on the stove, and rummages in the fridge before coming out with an apple. Harry grips the handle of his spoon tightly, grounding himself with the feel of the wooden grain against his fingers and the sting of his nails digging into his palms. When he sees John turn on his heel to leave to kitchen without a second glance to him, his tone is impressively even and composed.

“Are you leaving now?”

“Yeah, some sort of emergency.” John tosses over his shoulder as he hurries to leave.

Harry stands there in his kitchen, an aging middle-aged man alone on a Sunday morning, and despairs.

“Hey Hen,” John suddenly pokes his head inside and Harry perks up, maybe John can work from their study and stay— “Tomorrow is our therapy session. Please don’t forget or be late.”

“Don’t fret, my dear, I’ll be there.” Harry says with a smile that he doesn’t feel.

“Aces,” John’s responding smile doesn’t reach his eyes either. “I’ll see you later, Hen. Love you.”

He leaves too fast to hear Harry’s softer ‘love you more’ but it doesn’t matter. Harry had always known that he was too slow to keep up with John.

Still, he’d never thought that it would hurt so much when the inevitable happened.


	4. Fond memories (touched by a dash of wistfulness)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when they meet, Harry is smitten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's this? an update in 24 hours?? preposterous!
> 
> ajsjsaksa i finally have wifi in my home so i will update much quicker now. i tend to get excited with feedback so i might just finish this off by the middle of next month since its so short :( might write more chapters though. before i post a chapter i reread the whole thing and i psyche myself up all over again lmao

A rather jaw-dropping view sprawls before Harry, shimmering water in a clear turquoise blue. From the veranda of the safe house if he squints, he can just see the pools of darker cerulean and seaweed green. It is undoubtedly a beautiful place; any tourist would pay an arm and a leg to have such a vantage point at Bacalar. But not Harry Hart.

He scowls at the glittering expanse of tranquil waters. He wasn’t there on a vacation. Though Merlin might disagree considering he’d done nothing but twiddle his thumbs. No leads on his assignment, aside from finding out that the fellow he’s trailing apparently enjoys hiding in gorgeous settings under heavy guard with an even heavier armoury. It’s been _two_ days since he’s arrived at the confirmed location for the hit and he’s yet to find a way to do so. Christ maybe he _is_ getting old.

“Galahad?” Merlin’s brogue cuts through his increasingly darkening thoughts. What a pity, he’d just been about to whip himself into a right dither of a mid-life crisis. “Yer mark has been sighted in a club in Chetumal. Men’s Club Manhattan.”

“Why is he there? Was he not supposed to hide out away from the city and the police?” Harry asks, though he walks briskly to the attached garage to take out the flashy coupe Kingsman procured for him at his request. The car comes to life with a purr and Harry can’t help but briefly reconsider the prospect of a mid-life crisis. He shakes the thought away at Merlin’s voice. “Any possibilities of civilian interference?”

Something rustles in the background, probably Merlin settling in his chair to better reach his ever-present coffee. “From the looks of surveillance, he just got bored. No prospects of a third party meet-up.” Merlin takes an obnoxiously loud sip, making Harry grimace. “So, Galahad, tell me about that date with the primary school teacher.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Focus, Merlin.”

“If ye cannae hold a trivial conversation about yer sad love life while driving, I’m afraid I must inform ye, ye’ve gone senile.” Merlin laughs. “I’m taking it dinnae go well?”

“If by well, you mean the poor lad never wants to see me again, then yes.” Harry hisses through clenched teeth. “And as I _said_ before, I do not want to talk about it.”

“Aye,” Merlin says in surprisingly easy acquiescence before turning serious again. “Look alive, Galahad, there just might be civilian interference after all. Javier’s just reeled in a blond boytoy so that might be an issue.”

Harry doesn’t allow himself the luxury of groaning and instead opts for a long string of mental swears as he parks his flashy car as close to the club as he dares. Shutting the door with an angry slam, he stalks into the club after stuffing the bouncer’s outstretched hand with a large wad of cash. He looks around once inside, looking for that slippery mark of his so that he can finally wrap his fingers around his throat and choke the life out him for being such a pain in the arse to kill. Discretion can go fuck itself. Alas, the civilian who had caught the smarmy Javier’s eye did throw a spanner in the works, but he’s worked around worse. Then he finally lays eyes on _him_ , and Lord help him, he briefly forgets what his plan is.

Blonde hair, strong jawline covered in scruff, and, from what he could see in a brief glance, outrageously green eyes slightly overshadowed by a pair of large wire-rimmed round glasses. For a brief heartbeat, Harry forgets himself, and stares at the young man talking to the slick drug leader, taking in the stocky body that has all the glorious definition of youth and the muscles of a rigorous training regime, and that face. Good God that face, Harry understands wholeheartedly why Javier would risk staying in such an open and vulnerable position after months of wary concealment just to chat.

“All right there Galahad?” There’s a teasing note in Merlin’s voice and that alone is enough to make Harry jerk his attention away from the man. “Go within three meters of the lad, I will hack his phone and make it receive a call so he will leave. Then ye put the poison in his drink and ye are on the next plane out.”

Harry steps to the bar, positioning himself next to an excited drunk between him and the blond Adonis, just within the 3m radius Merlin ordered. He orders a shot of tequila in flawless Spanish, taking a small sip and decidedly _not_ looking at the beautiful male while listening to the rapid clacking of Merlin’s keyboard over his com.

Suddenly there’s a commotion at the entrance, a group of armed men muscling their way past the now wan bouncer. They take rapid steps towards Javier and for a moment, Harry agonizes over the ultimate humiliation of watching his mark get killed right in front of him. The armed men surround Javier with the ease of a seasoned security detail, and he kisses his chance at the dodgy wanker goodbye, with also a small sliver of relief to accompany it. He gulps down the rest of his drink and makes to leave.

Then Javier is suddenly screaming as he falls convulsing to the ground.

“What just happened?” Merlin echoes his thoughts in a bewildered tone. Which, if Harry’s learned anything at all in these past 20 years, means it’s time to get his arse out of there.

Harry legs it to the nearest door, just barely making it past the emergency exit when the first warning shot rings through the club. He’s about to ask Merlin what the bloody hell is going on when someone hesitantly taps his shoulder. It’s a great testament to his nerves of steel that he doesn’t curse and turn around wildly, signet ring crackling with electricity and amnesia dart at the ready, and instead glances respectfully behind him with calm.

“Saw the writing on the wall too, yeah?” The blond from the club says with a rueful grin. “The bloke was fit but around these parts, if they’re fit and with enough cash to take on a tourist, they’re probably drug lords.”

Harry blinks. How… perceptive. “Most of them yes, but not all.”

“Point.” The boy concedes before looking intently at Harry, cocking his head to the side in curiosity. “What’s a toff British gentleman doing in a gay club in Mexico?”

Harry smiles against his better judgement. He really is surprising. “Same thing I imagine a British lad like yourself is doing in a gay club in Mexico.”

The cheeky little shit snorts. “Sorry. I just find it hard to believe that you’re looking for a sugar daddy, too.”

Cheeks burning, Harry smirks. “Oh, I see, you think I’m too _old_?”

Tables quickly turned, green eyes widen, and he shakes his head quickly.

“No!” Harry’s brows nearly touch his hairline at the vehemence in the boy’s tone. A blush crosses his face, before giving him a quirked grin. “I just… meant that you’re just my kind of sugar daddy material.”

Oh.

Well, now that _is_ fascinating.

Harry finally looks at the boy closely: taking in the close-fitting garments that all the younger generation seem to prefer. Not that he can muster up a complaint: those trousers seem to be painted on the boy’s luscious thighs. Still, at closer inspection, the boy doesn’t look that much younger than him. At most a decade and a half, he catches himself thinking, which doesn’t make him feel like a lecherous old man at all. But he’s also eye-fucking Harry with passion, making his interest obvious. Which normally Harry would never condone even thinking of doing during a mission. Responsibility and discretion, and all that load of codswallop.

Although, he’s never had such a gorgeous temptation before.

Oh, what the hell? It appears his mid-life crisis is making its appearance after all.

“Henry DeVere.” Harry says, still retaining a sliver of self-preservation to give his cover.

Green eyes twinkle mischievously, lips curving in a knowing smirk. “John Smith.” He sweeps his gaze over Harry’s body boldly. “A pleasure.”

He purrs the latter in a throaty voice and damn if that doesn’t go straight to Harry’s cock.

“Right, I’m off.” Merlin’s voice doesn’t startle him, he hadn’t shut off coms yet. He resists scowling at Merlin’s apparent indulgence in Harry though. “Practice safe sex, Galahad.” He laughs. “Just tell me tomorrow at what time you’re ready for the jet.”

With another chuckle at Harry’s expense, Merlin remotely turns off Harry’s feed and closes coms with a soft ding. For a moment Harry contemplates calling Merlin back just to ruffle the bald wanker. But then John licks his lips and Merlin is gone from his thoughts in a split second.

One moment, they’re two separate beings and the next he has his arms full of John, tasting and suckling at that decadent mouth, pressing into that tempting body against the wall. So caught up in each other, they hardly notice when the municipal police poke their heads into the alley, only to quickly pull back at the sight of the two men all over each other.

John pulls back with a shaky huff. “Wait, wait Henry.” Harry doesn’t scowl at the sound of that other name, really, he doesn’t. Still, John somehow senses his frustration, albeit misunderstanding, because he hurries to add. “I ain’t saying no yet, Henry. I just want to do this in a place where there’s preferably a bed.”

This man will be the death of him.

Sunlight streams through the window, painting the lids of Harry’s eyes a soft red colour. Harry sighs, the soothing sounds of a shower almost lulling him back to sleep.

Wait.

His eyes snap open as the memories of last night suddenly crash into him. Wet kisses, heated skin, and a very loquacious partner. Harry ignores the heat on his cheeks. He’s too damn old for fondness over a one-night stand. With a sigh, he slips out from under the covers and looks around for his clothes.

He’s in the midst of pulling up his trousers when the bathroom door opens, steam curling out and around the stocky body that fills the doorway.

“Hey,” John says after a moment of watching Harry awkwardly struggle with the buttons on his trousers. Thankfully without comment on Harry’s evident embarrassment. “I’m setting out today back home.”

Since Javier is now probably dead, so is Harry. “My flight is in two hours.” Harry ignores the stab of disappointment at never seeing this gorgeous man again. Last night had merely been a one-night stand, especially for someone like John. It would be ridiculous to think that someone like _John_ would want more with someone like Ha—

“I’d like to keep in touch.” Harry’s head snaps up from where he had been staring sightlessly at the buttons on his shirt. John’s eyes are fixed on the carpet, almost as if he expects Harry to reject him. “I live in the States now, but phones exist, innit. Ain’t like we livin’ in the stone ages or some shit. Like—”

“Yes.” Harry interrupts John’s babble. His lips curve upwards into a reluctant smile. “I’d love that, sweetheart.”

John blushes a deep crimson looking at Harry with wide adorable eyes. Harry has to restrain himself from pulling John back to the bed and reliving last night or make some new memories. He coughs into his fist and pulls out his card from his wallet.

“Here.” Harry says stretching out his card to John who takes it with a still slightly shocked face. “My personal mobile will be at the bottom. I tend to use Signal instead of other messaging apps, but I will reply to your sms if that’s what you prefer.”

John tilts his head, looking at Harry with a thoughtful expression. “Funny, so do I.”

Harry shrugs. “I prefer my privacy.” He finishes buttoning up his shirt and goes to pick up his suit jacket form the side of the door. He shrugs it on and turns to face John. “I’d like to see you again sometime. Please do message me.”

John’s green eyes seem to bore into him as he awkwardly dips his head into a nod and then he leaves.

The moment he’s inside the Kingsman car he finally taps his glasses and Merlin greets him with a loud whistle.

Harry rolls his eyes. “It’s not like I’m a blushing virgin, Merlin.”

Merlin laughs. “Might as well be one at this point Galahad.”

“Did you run a check on John?” Harry is aware that John’s name is one of the most common names in the world but there hasn’t been a firewall Merlin hasn’t been able to circumvent.

Merlin clicks his tongue. “Within five seconds of him saying his name I had his information. Do you really think I would let you go away with a stranger without knowing what his favourite food from primary school is?”

“I never doubted you for a second, Merlin.” Harry says sarcastically, weaving his way through the dense city traffic. “I’m on my way to the jet.”

“Yer boy apparently is an accountant in a distillery.” Merlin goes on blithely, ignoring Harry completely. “He’s 25 and has been working in Statesman distillery for five years. He moved to the United States when he was 18 with his mother due to an unexpected inheritance and he’s been there ever since. Went to the University of Kentucky for his bachelor’s degree in accounting but didn’t try for a master’s.”

“You forgot his favourite food in primary school.” Harry mutters as he pulls into the private runway the jet was parked. 25? That makes him fifteen years younger than Harry. Jesus.

“Fish and chips, like every other young lad in London.”

Harry rolls his eyes and ignores the disappointment in his chest. He’d wanted to hear all of that from John.

“I’m glad ye’ve finally found some sexual release.” Merlin says with a laugh. “Ye were a right pain in the arse during your last mission.”

“Hopefully, he calls, and you won’t have to worry about it anymore.” Harry says without thinking.

Silence in his earpiece then, “What?” Merlin’s voice is quiet. Too quiet.

Harry sighs, now he’s in for it. “I gave him my card.”

“You’re fucking with me.” Merlin’s brogue becomes crisp and precise when he’s angry or stressed. Right now, his words are practically royalty precision. “You know that relationships with civilians are—”

“I know.”

“And you know that communications must be—”

“I know.”

“If you’re security becomes compromised because you are sending—”

“He uses Signal too.” Harry says and that finally shut him up. “Remember that the EFF updated their guide to include it so civilians are aware of it too.”

Merlin grumbles indistinctly. “Well there’s still the rule about relationships.”

“I know, Merlin.” Harry sighs, tilting his head back on the headrest of his seat. “I couldn’t let him go for some reason. I don’t know him yet but… I _want_ to know him.”

Silence.

“All right.” Merlin concedes. “Fine, do yer booty call thing with the boy. This will blow over soon enough when he realizes ye’re old.”

Harry snorts and fires back an insult and just like that they were back on familiar ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Bacalar exists and yes it does have a lagoon of seven colors. it's gorgeous.
> 
> Also yes i couldn't help but sneak in a reference to signal. I mean two secret agents who need to take care of their privacy when they communicate with civilians?? signal all the way yes 
> 
> Sorry if that part came off preachy tho


	5. Like a house of cards (crumbling around me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember that scene in Mr. and Mrs Smith where Brad Pitt kills some poker players? i incorporated it into this fic lmao akldskd im a sucker for tht movie ngl 
> 
> oh and chester is now dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand the plot thickens :D i'm excited for the next part klasjl shit is gonna go dooowwn.
> 
> also ty so much for ur comments <3 they make me smile whenever i see them :D  
> (also this might have some mistakes. i proofread but im also v sleep deprived so?)

Eggsy takes in his cards with a loud and exaggerated groan before finally folding. “Oi, my luck is usually better than this, swear down!” He grins at the victorious player who sweeps up the chips like nobody’s business. “Best three out of four, yeah? Another chance to win it all back? All or nothin’!”

He takes out a roll of folded up euros and waves it around. The other players look at him, already pissed out of his right mind, and the wad of money with a smirk. The man next to him even goes as far as to say, “Sure you don’t want to call it quits yet, Brit?”

“Not at all, Frenchie.” Eggsy says slurring heavily. “Still got plenty of cash and I just know the next hand’ll be much better.”

The doors to the poker hall open suddenly and loudly, the players around the table with Eggsy stiffening. They all avoid Eggsy’s gaze though he doesn’t pay attention and squints drunkenly at the entering men in dark blue suits.

“Who’s you supposed to be, eh?” Eggsy frowns when they stop beside the table.

“You’ll have to come with us, sir.”

They don’t wait for Eggsy to reply and manhandle him out of his seat roughly. Ignoring his loud protests, they half-drag him out of the hall and down the stairs that had been previously blocked off by a heavy steel door. It opens after a terse knock from one of the men who hold Eggsy and they go downstairs, still frog-marching Eggsy between them.

At the bottom of the stairs, there’s another steel door which opens to show another smaller table of poker players.

“What’s this?” Eggsy says with a huff, jerking his arms out of the grips of the men.

The players, a diverse group of men and women all laugh. Despite being in Paris, they all speak English as they burst into conversation amongst themselves. They don’t seem to be of any specific nationality, all speaking with different accent though they are all white.

“Come sit down.” The oldest man in the room graciously gestures to the open seat next to him. He speaks with a Russian accent, though tempered by the obvious familiarity he has with the English language. His fingers are heavily ringed, and the other people stop talking as soon as he speaks, almost fearful.

It’s obvious who’s in charge.

“I ain’t gonna do shit, bruv.” Eggsy says with a sneer. “I was happily losing meself a couple thousand euros back there before your goons here interrupted me.”

The Russian chuckles. “We have here a slightly, ah, more exclusive table.” He leans forward. Behind Eggsy, there’s a slight rustle as the men slightly loom over him. “We only play with large numbers, if you know what I mean.”

 _It can’t be that easy, c_ omes a scoff from his left ear. Eggsy ignores it and grins widely. “Well, why didn’t your blokes say so from the get-go?”

The women titter and he winks at them shameless. He takes a seat and comfortably ensconces himself in it, taking in the other people in the room with a bored glance. Beside the Russian who greeted him in the beginning, a blond woman with a green silk shirt gossips to the brunette next to her in a soft French accent. The brunette for her part answers in a heavy German accent. Neither of them pays any attention to the two other men around the table, exchanging lewd jokes in a loud tone. They both have an American accent though one drawls his words out in that unmistakable southern way while the other has a flat accent of no particular region. The southerner has a shock of red-haired curls that fall all over the place, which makes him look like a mismatch of parts with his cowboy garb. The other is so non-descript looking that it takes Eggsy at least three glances his way to memorize his features.

“How much we gonna start with?” Eggsy says watching the way the German woman efficiently shuffles and deals. The Russian chuckles.

“Mr. Smith, from the moment you walked in to our … establishment we pulled in your details.” Which doesn’t sound ominous at all.

 _I told you!_ Eggsy ignores the voice in his ear again, keeping his confused grin still on his face. “What?”

“Oui, we know that you are an accountant Mr. Smith, London based. You married to an older gentleman from the Kingsman tailor shop, a tailor, five years ago.” The blonde grins, though it’s too sharp to be friendly. Adrenaline twists Eggsy’s stomach, he can have them out in five seconds and the suits in another thirty. “You were born in East London, though you moved to the States when you were eighteen with your mother.”

_Easy, that is all part of your cover._

Eggsy shrugs, letting go of the coil of tension in his body. “Yeah, met me husband in Mexico five years ago. Dashing bloke, couldn’t get enough of him so I married him and moved back to England. Not really getting why go through the trouble, though?”

The redhead guffaws. “Aw, don’t be like that partner! We just need to be circumspect about who we invite to these things.” He winks at Eggsy. “Gotta make sure that they have the cash.”

The other American shifts in his chair, the only one at the table looking at Eggsy with wariness in his gaze. “We start with 10,000 euros, increments of 5,000.”

Eggsy gives another shrug and pulls out his money from his pocket. His cover has more than enough money to justify the money being rolled around, even if none of it actually comes from him.

“Let’s go.” He says throwing the money on the table.

They start to play, the men in the suits serving a double function as they fetch drinks from the upstairs, and the others relax even more. Chatting easily with them all, they talk about their multiple projects and differing interests across the continent. Eggsy pretends not to notice when the cagy American finally relaxes and sends off a message on his phone or when the suits are waved off by the Russian, leaving them alone at times completely. The Russian is an easy conversation partner, talking much about his escort service back in his homeland and how he is trying to elevate a couple of them to a much higher status in the States.

Several rounds play out, Eggsy finally winning back what he’d lost upstairs only to lose it before winning it back. They all rib each other good-heartedly, the alcohol serving to loosen up their inhibitions, and they generally enjoy the game in a content mood.

Then the door swings open again, the others looking up but Eggsy checks his watch. Ten past five. He needs to get a wrap on this, so he isn’t late for the party. Even if he’d rather stay here instead of going to that damn thing. He looks back up and sees a slightly stooped white-haired man make his way into the room. The suits are upstairs, having left to fetch another bottle of whiskey and a fruity drink that Lesly, the brunette, had ordered.

“Who’s this?” the man asks to the Russian with a severe frown. His crisp pronunciation reminds Eggsy of Henry, compounded by the fact that the suit he wears looks just as elegantly tailored as his husband’s. Not that Eggsy is bothered. Henry has never looked at Eggsy with that sneering disdain nor does the newcomer wear his high-end suit as well as Henry.

“Ah, Chester, so good to see you.” The Russian says smiling. He clasps Eggsy’s shoulder. “This is John Smith, our newest member.”

Chester scowls at Eggsy though he draws closer to the table. When he’s just a few steps away, he gapes at Eggsy and freezes in his steps. Eggsy notices the exact moment the older British bloke recognizes him. With an internal swear, he slips a harmless looking washer from his pocket and throws it at the door quickly. It comes to life with a loud crackle of electricity and then they’re locked in with him. The Russian swears loudly, searching frantically through his pockets while the two women shriek. But Eggsy is already out of his chair and towards the British bloke.

Chester pulls out a pair of glasses from his pocket, but Eggsy has been around the block long enough to identify a weapon or a tool of the trade and knocks them out of his hand quickly enough. He crushes them under the heel of his heavy boots before slamming his hand into Chester’s windpipe.

Choking for air, he collapses on the ground and Eggsy is left to turn to the others at the table. He pulls at his bracelet on his left hand, the beads coming loose quickly enough to pool in his palm.

“Nothing personal, mates.” He says with a grin before throwing the beads at them. He closes his eyes and the flash coming from the detonation paints his eyelids in red. When he opens them, they are all unconscious on the table, though unaware that the trackers on them are making their way through their bloodstream as they snore. They’ll wake up later with no recollection of the past couple of hours.

He turns his attention to his mark who’s still gasping for breath on the concrete floor.

_Is that your definition of discrete?!_

“He recognized me.” Eggsy’s murmur hardly breaks the silence, though he knows that she’ll hear him in any case. “Don’t know from where since I’ve never met this bloke in my life.”

 _Well, he seems to be an important part of Valentine’s plot, so he needs to come in._ Or die. Eggsy suddenly isn’t too picky. Can’t have his identity leaked if the twat is dead. _We need him alive._

The bloke suddenly stops gasping for breath and turns to him with a deranged smile. “Not today.”

_Increased heat signature. Take cover!_

Eggsy turns to dive towards the table when Chester’s head blows up, speckling his clothes with blood and grisly bits of brain matter along with a blue liquid. “Fuck.” He says taking in the now headless Chester. The voice in his ear agrees before reminding him that he needs to leave, now.

He deactivates the washer on the door with a quick command from his watch and makes his way out of the room. He crosses a suit at the threshold of the stairs, clearly on his way downstairs but waves him off with a quick grunt about looking for a bathroom. Thankfully, by the time the guard reaches the room, Eggsy has left the building.

Later on the jet, and having taken off the grimy clothes, Eggsy pours a generous helping of brandy from the decanter and looks thoughtfully out the window.

As much as he tries to make heads or tails of what happened, he still doesn’t understand how that fancy ponce knew him. He gulps down the alcohol and calls Ginger Ale on his tablet.

“How did he know who I was?” he asks without preamble to the dark-skinned woman on the screen of his tablet.

She shrugs. “Would have been better to take him in alive if we wanted to get answers, but …”

“But his fucking head blew off.” Eggsy scowls. He doesn’t like loose ends, especially since he got married. Loose ends mean possible threats to him, and possible threats to him mean Henry might be in danger. Eggsy can handle danger against himself, but Henry? Now that’s a whole other deal. “I don’t like this, Gin.”

She hesitates almost imperceptibly but Eggsy has been working with her for a decade now and he knows when she’s trying to hide something. They have a strong familiarity with each other by now, so much so that Eggsy doesn’t call her by her beverage codename anymore.

“What is it?” he looks at her expression and serves himself another glass of brandy. Fuck knows he needs it.

“It’s just… He didn’t recognize you from sight alone.” She frowns. “It wasn’t until Volkov named you that he seemed to connect your face to your name. This cover is old enough to be known by name but not by people you’ve never met. Especially since it’s one of the most common names on earth.”

Eggsy exhales, rubbing the cold glass over his forehead. “Could be someone from the States? I used this cover for years before I had to take it up permanently.”

Gin shakes her head. “No, Chester King had always lived in England as far as we could determine.”

“And I told you that it made more sense to go after him in England and not in Paris.” Eggsy mutters.

“Not likely.” Gin frowns. “He was always somewhere off grid, we never managed to find out where he lived exactly or what he did for work. Just that his passport never flagged for travel since his college days.”

“How did you even find out that he would be in France?” Eggsy looks out the window and sees that the jet starts to touch down. “I barely paid attention to the details of this, since it was just supposed to be a tagging.”

“Well, as I _told_ you in the debrief, I found out about King through Valentine. I hacked his email and tracked down the identities of those involved.” She grins suddenly. “And since we have the lovely Rum out there just aging away in England, well, beggars can’t be choosers, can they?”

“Har, har.” Eggsy says sarcastically before draining his glass. “Well, Gin it’s been a pleasure as always but there’s a boring toff filled party that I have to get to.”

Gin signs off with a laugh, leaving the screen of his tablet dark. He sighs and stands up before exiting the jet with a quick salute to the pilot. His Mercedes is parked at the hangar just as he left it in the morning and he pulls out quickly, already five minutes late to that bloody party.

When he pulls up to their home, he’s surprised to see the door shutting behind Henry. Though when he thinks on it, Henry has never been late to any of those parties that Eggsy dreads so much. Figures the stuffy bastard would enjoy the damn things.

Eggsy pulls down the sun visor and checks for the last time to make sure the blood didn’t splatter to his shirt that he’d had under his jacket. There’s nothing other than a small blot of red near his collar but it shouldn’t be noticeable. He pulls a face in the mirror, already thinking about the awkward evening in front of him.

If one more snobbish prick asks who’s the girl in their relationship, Eggsy is gonna do some damage and fuck the consequences.

Sighing, he snaps the sun visor back to its position and gets out of the car, slipping inside his home with thumping footsteps and an obnoxious squeak of hinges. He calls out to Henry as he toes off his trainers, upending the shoe drawer with a loud clatter as usual. He doesn’t receive an answer other than a muffled greeting from upstairs, padding off to the small bar they keep in their living room. He’s nursing his favourite scotch when Henry walks into the room.

Eggsy very deliberately lowers his glass on the countertop and doesn’t leer at his husband. Really, he doesn’t. It’s just that the soft blue, no doubt cashmere, jumper combined with his usual dress slacks make his usually so aloof husband look delectable as all hell while straddling the line between casual and dressy.

Jesus, the four-month dry spell is really starting to get to him if he’s salivating over Henry in a fucking jumper.

“Ready to go?” Eggsy drops his gaze to the alcohol before gulping it down. Fuck knows he’s gonna need the alcoholic anaesthetic to go through this evening. Here’s to hoping the three drinks he had would numb the emotional pain of going through this shit again.

“I’m ready when you are, darling.” The endearment rolling off Henry’s tongue gets to him just like it did all those years ago, though now Eggsy doesn’t blush and look at Henry with adoration. A bloke’s gotta keep _some_ dignity, ain’t he?

“Where’s the party this year anyway?” Eggsy asks Henry as he locks up behind them. Henry rolls the handle of his ever-present brolly in his palm and shrugs.

“I believe it was with the Carrows this year.” Well, that explains the casual get-up. Henry had never really forgiven Mrs. Carrow for assuming Eggsy was his younger brother when they’d moved in together. 

They set off in at a casual place with only the slight thud of Henry’s brolly on the pavement giving away their presence. Eggsy wonders if he should make a move to grab Henry’s hand. Would he jerk away?

“Should be low-key then?” Eggsy says slightly desperate after passing several houses in silence.

“Perhaps, but Rufus does tend to come out of the woodwork during his parents’ parties and you know how that boy tends to be.”

Eggsy makes a face. “fun.” He side-eyes Henry’s hand. It’s right there!

Henry hums in agreement. “At least the others will be there.”

Yeah, Henry’s other neighbours. The ones who aren’t homophobic but _are_ classist arseholes who never fail to try to belittle Eggsy. Eggsy turns to face the elegant profile of his husband. Henry cut an admittedly dashing figure even in his semi-casual clothes and maybe that’s why he doesn’t seem ruffled by all the shit his neighbours stir at those fucking parties. No amount of expensive clothing would ever manage to cloak Eggsy’s humble beginnings thanks to his accent, and Eggsy would rather swallow knives than pretend to be anything other than what he is.

There’s a reason why John Smith had been his preferred cover even before he got married to Henry. It was basically Eggsy but without the secret agent stuff. Still, Henry never shows a trace of discomfort at those stupid parties, might be because to him that’s normal though. To be honest, the first couple of parties hadn’t registered as uncomfortable to Eggsy: back then they’d only popped in to say hi before leaving. Too caught up in their romance to actually stay and mingle.

God, he misses those days.

“Do you enjoy these things?” Eggsy asks bluntly. Please say no, please say-

“I enjoy spending time with you, darling.” Henry flashes him a quick polite smile.

“Oh.”

Eggsy subsides then, letting silence fall between them again and doesn’t look at Henry again. When they arrive at the Carrows’ home, there’s already a racket. They share a look before Henry raps at the door politely. It doesn’t surprise Eggsy a bit when the door opens wide to most of their snobby neighbours already there.

Henry smiles politely at their hosts, though his smile strains slightly when James Carrow sends him off to the living room with the rest of the ‘ladies’. Eggsy, already anticipating an evening listening to ‘the boys’ harp on about the multiple ways they’re alpha men, lets himself be drawn outside to the grill with a grin fixed on his face.

Nothing new from last year apparently. Something about Henry made the homophobes think he’s the feminine one of the pair while Eggsy’s usual habit of dressing in plain jeans and a polo made them think he’s the masculine one. Which is all a bunch of bullshit. Eggsy’s just arrived and already his head hurts from biting his tongue.

He stands around the grill, listening to the bullshit and refraining from rolling his eyes so much he’s worried he’ll strain his eyelids from the effort. Fuck this stupid bullshit.

“What do you think, John?”

Eggsy looks up to an expectant looking Mike. “Sorry?”

“Some trannies were reading to children in a library.” Greg says with a disgusted sneer.

Eggsy takes a deep breath, holds it for two seconds and exhales. Less inclined towards murder, hurrah. “Nothing wrong with that.”

Clive snorts and the others laugh. “It’s disgusting that these liberals are poisoning the minds of children with their mental illness.”

He stares at the men incredulously. Is this for real? They are seriously talking about this shit in front of him? An unapologetic gay man? What the actual fuck!?

“I’m gonna go get a beer.” Eggsy mutters and stomps inside. Statesman wouldn’t be happy if he went on a murder rampage in Stanhope Mews, even if they’re clamouring for it.

He remembers Henry had been sent off with the women when he crosses the living room door and hears the loud voices of the women gossiping. Well, it’s not like he wants to go back to those assholes. With a shrug he heads off to the living room for a curious look to see how Henry is faring. Maybe Eggsy could play the saviour bit and Henry would swoon in his arms.

He snorts to himself as he peeks inside. Jesus, he’s got it bad.

The women all sit around, gossiping wildly with each other. Harry is off on his own towards the end of a couch, looking bored but otherwise unbothered. Most of the women were focused on Janice though, the loudest of all the gaggle of biddies. Janice Elliot had a baby last year, so she hadn’t been able to make it to their last ‘party’ but she made up for it by being loud and obnoxious during this one. Caught up in her little theatrics to show off in front of their neighbours, she doesn’t pay attention to her toddler who sits on the floor with a dangerously wobbly lip while tugging on the trousers of her mum. Eggsy had decided to intervene when Henry kneels next to the little girl with a small smile, murmuring something softly to her that makes her giggle.

She looks at Henry with wide eyes, her wild black curls settling around her like a halo as she gazes up with a slightly adoring look on her face, replying to him with a shy smile. Henry teases her in that same soft voice and she bursts into laughter before throwing her arms around Henry’s neck. A stunned look crosses Henry’s face at her enthusiastic affection and that’s when their gazes connect across the room.

Something twists in Eggsy’s stomach and he’s the first to look away. Where’s that fucking beer?

Harry decides five minutes into the party that when Eggsy finally decides to divorce him, he’s going to finally let his conceited neighbours have a piece of his mind. And maybe a piece of his Rainmaker too. He grits his teeth at the obnoxiously high-pitched laugh of the young Angelina’s mother.

The little girl still has her arms wrapped around his neck, chattering a million words a minute uncaring if he’s actually understanding what she’s saying.

“Galahad.” Merlin’s voice coming from his glasses makes him stiffen. There’s no reason why Merlin should suddenly activate coms when he’s off-duty. Not unless something dire has happened.

He untangles himself from Angelina but smiles at her to soften the blow. The little dark-haired angel beams right back at him and he heads off to the nearest bathroom.

“Status?” he whispers underneath his breath. Merlin’s finger clack furiously before he confirms they are not in danger of being overheard. Not that Harry would dare talk about murder so casually while in some conceited prick’s bathroom. “What’s going on?”

“Arthur’s body has been found in Paris.” Merlin’s voice is solemn, no trace of his brogue in sight. Harry wouldn’t doubt his oldest friend regardless, but Merlin’s lack of familiar brogue makes it even more serious. “We’re activating the Excalibur protocol.”

“Was there any damage?” Logically, Harry knows that Chester couldn’t have died of natural causes or else they wouldn’t have implemented the Excalibur protocol. As the most senior agent, if Arthur is ever compromised or killed, Harry would step in as Excalibur, temporary leader of Kingsman until they finish investigating what happened to Arthur.

“His head was blown to bits.” Merlin pauses. “He was also found in an alley in Paris. No signs of the death occurring there.”

Jesus Christ. “Was anyone still in the shop?”

“I’m thinking compromised before his death. Arthur didn’t mention a damn thing about leaving England today.” Harry can almost see Merlin’s furious scowl and almost smiles. But he quickly sobers up at the implication.

“Anything show up on the cameras?”

Merlin sighs. “Arthur was supposed to be in HQ, his arse suitably protected, and instead he gets his fucking head blown off in Paris. His glasses weren’t activated, his tracker showed him in his office, and it was only until I caught the report of a body with a high-end suit and the Kingsman signet ring that I found out.”

“It’s serious then.” Harry says grimly. Only Christ knows what Arthur was involved in if he felt the need to conceal it from Kingsman. Nothing good, of that Harry is sure of. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes at most.”

Merlin cuts the line with a curt grunt. Now alone, Harry lets his body slump over the bathroom sink countertop. The moment he’d shared with John earlier made him feel real hope for the first time. John had seemed so utterly floored by the sight of Harry with Angelina that for one moment, Harry had been tempted to stride over to plant a long coming kiss on those lips that he missed so much. He kept himself in check, just barely, and John made his escape to the kitchen though Harry had resolved to talk about it with John immediately at home. Maybe even make some progress with his husband.

Now this. Fucking Chester gets involved in god knows what and gets his head blown to bits for his trouble. Leaving Kingsman under Harry’s responsibility for the time being.

A sudden knock on the door startles Harry, his body settling into his usual defensive stance before he can mentally process that it’s probably just one of the prissy arseholes wanting to take a piss.

“Henry?” John’s voice comes through, his tone soft and questioning. “Are you all right, babe?”

“I’m fine, darling.” Harry straightens and settles his expression back to his usual reserve before washing his hands in the sink. He dries his hands on the clearly decorative hand towels hanging from a rack with great satisfaction before turning to open the door. John stands in the doorway looking concerned.

“Are you sure, Hen?” John’s left hand twitches upward before he lets it fall back down to his side. “Do you want to go?”

Harry nods not quite trusting his voice, feeling that aborted movement like a dagger to his gut. Good lord, was his husband now actively preventing himself from touching him? 

He clears his throat and stuffs the disappointment deep inside. “I received a call from work. Someone broke into the shop and I must go in to check if nothing’s been stolen.”

“Oh my God, is everything okay?” John looks horrified and this time doesn’t resist from reaching out to Harry. Harry lets himself be pulled into a tight hug and basks in the welcome sight of his husband focused on him. Damn it. “Do you want me to go with you?”

Harry leans into John’s warmth, wrapping his arms around his husband’s smaller frame indulgently before stepping back. “No, darling, that’s quite all right. You can stay to enjoy the party and I’ll meet you later at home.”

John scowls. “I ain’t gonna stay here and twiddle my thumbs in this damn party if you ain’t gonna be here.”

Surprised at John’s clear dismissal to the agonizingly boring party, Harry opens his mouth to ask why they were there then when someone interrupts.

“Oh my.” Alice Rothschild covers her mouth in clearly fake shock. Harry just barely refrains from rolling his eyes. “Are you two having a spat?”

How rude.

“Of course not, Alice.” John flashes her one of his grins, no sign of their previous conversation on his now cheery expression. Harry blinks in confusion, not quite sure how exactly John pulled it off so effortlessly. Since when is John that good at deflection? “Just having a quick chat about work problems. Say, have you seen James?”

Alice looks at them askance, clearly not taking in John’s quick conversation change at face value. “I think he’s still outside with the rest.”

“Great.” John says satisfied. “Then we’ll leave you to it.”

He tugs Harry by the hand, intertwining their fingers in an easy move reminiscent of better years. Harry lets himself be lead, allowing John to take the point with James and Catherine with excuses for their early exit, just watching as John charmingly laughs off the blatant innuendos and tugs them both out the door in less than a two minutes flat.

“Well,” Harry says when they’re outside on the sidewalk, looking at his husband in a new light. “You certainly can be persuasive when the time calls for it.”

John flushes slightly and drops his hand. He tugs at the collar of his forest green polo with the tip of his forefinger but meets Harry’s gaze with a fond smile. “You looked so worried, babe. If it was Statesman, I woulda been outta my mind. I’m responsible for the damn thing. So yeah, I covered for you.”

Harry stares at John for a few more seconds before shaking his head, smiling. “You never cease to surprise me, my dear.” He pulls out his phone, sending off a message to his driver before turning back to John. His husband is looking off to the distance, so he doesn’t register immediately when Harry turns his attention back to him. The false cheer that had buoyed him through their hasty exit is gone, leaving John’s features drawn, worry etched on his brow. “Are you quite all right, sweetheart?”

John jerks his face back to Harry, the preoccupied look on his face disappearing faster than ethanol. “Just worried about you, Hen.” He bumps his shoulder against Harry’s. “Mind walking me home at least?”

“I’m offended you even asked, sweetheart.” John laughs and they set off in direction of their home, their pace quicker than earlier. “Will you be all right while I’m gone?”

John bites his lip and Harry has to quickly look away before he’s tempted into tugging that lip out with his own. “I’ll be fine, Hen.”

Harry frowns. Something is off, though he can’t quite put his finger on it. “How are things at work?”

John shrugs and stuff his hands into his jeans. “It’s… going.” He exhales gustily. “I was assigned a supposedly low-level audit from corporate, just a casual look into the numbers, but it turned out worse than I was expecting.”

“Oh,” Harry hadn’t expected John to actually answer. He usually just blew him off with things like ‘work is work, Henry’. “I hope everything works out soon.”

“It will.” John is all quiet confidence. It’s a tad presumptive from Harry’s point of view, but then again Harry doesn’t know much of auditing. John though has been at it since he’s twenty so he’s the expert. “Just a matter of time and digging in.”

Harry hums, agreeing non-verbally. They draw to a halt outside their home, the cab Harry had called already idling at the curb. John looks at Harry with his green eyes wide. Looking so much like those nights when they would just bask in each other, no sight of this careful coexistence, that Harry’s chest aches with want.

But Kingsman is priority, and it always will be.


	6. Wish on a Star (won't make it go away)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the shit has hit the fan, i repeat, the shit has hit the fan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BAAACK!! two days late uwu but i'm here. This was supposed to go up on saturday but well, you know how real life gets.
> 
> Here i ask you to suspend your belief BIG TIME on the hacking thing. I spent five hours reading on hacking, got paranoid and then scanned my computer before finally getting back on track so ... yeah, just pretend its okay lmao
> 
> this scene was hard for me because i know that the two just had some miscommunication issues but with this, there goes the trust as well... tell me what ya'll think and if it's not too choppy <3

Eggsy leans against the doorway, watching Henry’s lean figure elegantly fold himself into the cab before shutting the door and walking inside to the living room. He taps his fingers over his jeans, nervous energy rattling his earlier composure. Suddenly a drink seems like a very good idea.

When Henry had suddenly disappeared, he’d felt his heart drop to his stomach. Rationally, he knows that if they’re going to go after Henry then they won’t be discreet and go in guns blazing. Especially if they get any wind of who exactly Eggsy is and how dangerous he can be if his back gets against the wall.

But damn if that moment he couldn’t spot Henry in the living room didn’t send his heart rate galloping, mind racing with all the different possibilities. And now his husband is gone again, away from Eggsy’s protection, and… fuck. Fuck this whole situation. He knocks back the scotch in one gulp and heads out the door, resolve in place. All threats to Henry _must_ be eliminated.

He gets into his car and quickly pulls quickly. “Gin.” He says after a couple of minutes stewing on his thoughts. “Still up?”

“I’m on my 24th hour of my regular 48-hour shift.” Gin’s sardonic reply comes over quickly enough. “What’s up?”

“Any headway on Chester’s details?” Eggsy asks in a grim tone, for once not joking back to Gin. “I’ve got some time on my hands.”

Gin hums. “Well, it seems that before he went off to get his head blown off, he clicked on the infected email I sent from Valentine’s account.” She sighs. “Haven’t had the chance to look into it, everybody and their mother wants something.”

Eggsy grins. Ginger always loves to complain about how useless they are but secretly loves to help. “Could you send it over to me? I’m off to the office.”

“It’s kinda late, Eggs.” Gin says concerned. “Are you sure everything is fine over there?”

“I’m fine, Gin.” Eggsy sighs. “Or I will be when I know that Henry isn’t in any danger.”

Gin coughs and her chair creaks, undoubtedly fiddling with her keyboard. “Fine, I’ll send the backdoor over.” She shuts off her line without a further comment.

Eggsy exhales and grips the wheel tighter. He knows he’s gonna have to apologize sooner rather than later if he’s ever gonna have a hope of working with Gin again but right now, Henry’s safety is priority.

He leaves his car curb side to the small pub that serves as Statesman’s cover and goes inside. After a glance around the mostly quiet room, he nods to the barkeeper, a retired Whiskey who jumped on the chance of moving to England, and heads to the back where the manager’s office is. The office is sparse, no clutter on the mahogany desk and a slightly aged desktop computer with the pub’s logo rotating on the mostly dark screen.

He pays no mind to it and instead heads to where the heavy accounting ledgers stand on the bookshelf. Pulling out one marked with 2015-A-01, he places his hand on the back of the bookshelf and places the ledger back when the beep alerts him to the activation of the door. He steps back and watches the shelf drop into the ground before going into the doorway where the lift stands.

When he’d moved back to England, along with the now code-named Spritzer, Statesman had wanted to build a bunker right below the pub. But the pub’s location, along with the fact that a bunker is the least conspicuous building effort ever, didn’t really allow for it. Thankfully, the pub was close enough to an unused line of the London’s underground and so they installed the small bullet train instead.

Though, Eggsy muses with a scowl as he folds his not that very tall frame into the pod meant for one, it’s more like a capsule than a train. The ride isn’t very long, thank fucking God, and he’s unfolding himself out of that damn pod quickly enough to step towards the bunker they’d somehow managed to build 500 km away.

He leans close to the space he knows the iris scanner is embedded, though the patch of wall looks the same as the rest and waits patiently for the beep that precedes the opening of the bunker doors after the scanners confirm his eye is still inside his socket and he’s alone. Inside the lights are on, as always, and the computer has the Statesman logo rotating on the screen on all three screens. He ignores the wall of weapons for now and takes a heavy seat at the clean white table.

When he types in his user and password, the file Gin promised him is on the desktop. He opens it up quickly and starts the command prompt. _It’s gonna be a long night_ , he thinks to himself as he muses whether he should call Henry.

Nah, he’s probably busy. Eggsy could call him later.

Harry reads over the papers quickly, trying to absorb the multiple codes and rules that he’ll have to follow until the mission is closed. All he manages to understand is fuck Percival for joining a year after him. The blade specialist has a hidden bureaucratic streak that would be better than Harry’s impatience for all things administrative. Instead Kingsman is stuck with him for now until they can vote for the next Arthur.

The quicker he finishes this, the quicker he can get back to his husband.

 _And their failing marriage_ , his brain oh so helpfully supplies.

An alarm starts wailing from one of Merlin’s multiple screens and Harry pauses his reading. Merlin looks up with a distracted frown from the screen where he had been looking at fuck knows what.

One that is quickly replaced by a furious scowl. “Fuck!” Merlin’s usual composure is gone, now frantically typing and clicking away at several parts on his monitors the movements too quick, text flashing gibberish to Harry’s eyes. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

Merlin continues his litany of swears until the alarm shuts off and then he slumps in his seat, face pinched and eyes closed as he exhales loudly.

“What was that?” Harry asks carefully.

Merlin’s eyes open and he glares at Harry as though he were personally responsible. “What happens is that someone just tried to hack us.” He purses his lips, obviously unwilling to admit the next part. “And succeeded.”

“What?!” Harry strides over to the monitors as if his meagre mortal mind could make heads or tails of the lines of text that now cover all five monitors. “Who?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be talking to you, now would I?” Merlin snarls. Harry keeps his thoughts to himself and Merlin, predictably, deflates. “Apologies.”

“We’ve never been hacked since I’ve been an agent.” Harry muses, sweeping his friend’s outburst under the rug. “I’d begun to think that you were infallible.”

“So did I.” Merlin mutters before facing the screens again. “Fortunately, the sods couldn’t get into our mainframe before I cut them off and sent back a virus. It should be sending us all the information we want right about—”

He cuts off and stares at the scrolling data on his screen in horror. A shiver works down Harry’s spine forebodingly.

“RUM!” Gin’s voice is loud in the silence of the bunker and Eggsy jumps a mile in his seat. “What in the everlasting name of God did you just do?!”

Eggsy frowns. “Nothin.”

“Don’t ‘nothin’ me, Gary Unwin.” The giant screen on one of the walls turns on and Gin’s angry image appears on it. She’s wearing her usual black-rimmed glasses and black vest over a white long-sleeved shirt. She’s also glaring holes into Eggsy’s face. “I was just engaged by the most impressive hacking job I’ve ever come across after _you_ decided to poke your nose into God knows what!”

Eggsy winces. “Okay, okay. In my defence, when I saw the alert pop-up, I shut down the command prompt. Except then there was some unusual pings and well, I sort of wanted to see what was going on so I mobilized the IRC for the—”

“And then they probably caught your zombies and cut you off with a farewell present.” Gin cuts him off brusquely. Eggsy blushes. He used to have a knack for coding and hacking when he was younger, something about the logical scripts for the programs just clicking in his brain, and he was so good at it that Statesman picked him. But after his impressive marks in hand-to-hand and marksmanship while in training, he’d been put as a full-fledged agent instead of part of the Beverages, aka IT, team. It’s been years since he’s tried to do an active hacking. Gin must have seen his obvious remorse and softens with a sigh. “Rum, whoever backed King is no FBI or CIA, their encryption is on par with ours and the virus they sent back would have blown the NSA’s servers straight out of the water. You have to be careful.”

“I know, I know, it’s just… this isn’t just about me, yeah?” Eggsy meets Gin’s gaze evenly. “I never leave behind loose ends, especially not when I use my permanent cover. And you know why.”

“Eggs…” Gin looks conflicted. “This is precisely why the rule against civilian relationships used to exist.”

This time Eggsy looks away. “Champ took it down with full table agreement.”

“Doesn’t change the situation, now does it?” Gin sighs. “Anyway, did you at least get anything before you had to do damage control?”

Of course, Gin wouldn’t believe he’d just quit at the first obstacle. He straightens in his chair. “Yeah, got back a short snip of a video when one of King’s grandsons went to visit him at his workplace. Some sort of a tailor shop here in London. Haven’t gotten around to check it.”

Gin looks interested. “Really? We haven’t been able to confirm anything about King’s actual workplace.”

Eggsy shrugs. “I didn’t go directly to King’s stuff, just started to pick at his family to see where the weaker security lay.” He chuckles. “Figures a bloke’s snapchat would be a crazily protected wanker’s downfall.”

Gin laughs too. “They never do seem to grasp that everything on the internet is forever, even if it disappears for the user.” She looks interested. “Come on, I want to see the video. Maybe we can place the location even if the geo-tags have been scrubbed.”

“Merlin?” Harry asks after several moments of just watching the lines scroll across the monitors. Merlin doesn’t give off an indication he heard. “Hamish!”

Merlin finally jerks his gaze off the monitor and turns to Harry. “Harry, I—” He cuts himself off and stands. Harry takes a step back, allowing Merlin to head to his private stash of alcohol he keeps in his office.

Christ, all of Kingsman are probably high-functioning alcoholics after the first year of service. And that’s a generous estimate.

“Harry, what does your husband do again?” Merlin says after two very substantial servings of whisky.

“Why?” Harry asks, side-eying his friend’s odd demeanour and the way he sucks down another two glasses. “What’s going on, Merlin?”

“Look at the middle lines on my centre screen.” Merlin’s hand shakes as he pours himself another full glass.

Bemused, Harry steps towards the console.

_51°27’10.7”N 0°11’28.0”W_

_89 Garratt Ln, Earlsfield, London SW18, 4DW, United Kingdom_

_Statesman_

“How did you even find out this guy was King’s grandson?” Gin asks as Eggsy clicks through the files to find the video.

He laughs. “I put in the word son in King’s email program and clicked on the first one that came up.”

“The infamous Unwin luck hits again.” Gin snorts.

“Hey, I was prepared to put in the whole family until I got something.” Eggsy shrugs. “Not my fault that the wanker had just decided to take in his grandson for some sort of training programme recently.”

Ginger probably rolls her eyes at Eggsy but he’s busy putting the video into the pixel clean up program so it’s less grainy and much easier to view.

“Ready?” he asks when the video is finally ready. Gin purses her lips and nods. The video is hardly high definition, even after going through Statesman’s clean-up programme. He’s about to make a snarky comment to Gin when the bloke on the video speaks.

It’s barely a sentence or coherent, but it destroys the need for high fidelity. He ignores Gin’s complaints about the lack of definition, the blurred out faces and background that is obviously artificial.

Because Eggsy knows where the location is by heart and no amount of digital fabrication can erase that knowledge.

Kingsman.

“I have to go.” Eggsy mutters before stumbling out of the bunker without giving Gin a chance to reply.

Harry’s phone vibrates in his pocket and he looks down at the screen.

“It’s your husband.” He looks at Merlin and realizes that his friend isn’t talking about just the call.

He refuses to think of the implications. “I have to take this call.” Ignoring Merlin’s spluttering, he strides outside his office in a bid for privacy. “Hello?”

“Hen?” John’s voice is smooth, as usual. “How are things at the shop?”

Paranoia has never steered Harry wrong.

“Things seem shaken up, though nothing’s missing. Still, a full inventory will verify if everything is truly all right.” Harry replies without missing a beat. “How are things at home?”

“I’m stuck on my arse worried as all hell, Hen.” John says with a wry chuckle. “Any chance of you coming home soon?”

Then again, this is _John_. John who tears up while watching children’s cartoons. The same one that manages to stumble and trip over nothing but flat linoleum. He’s seen his husband cry over an accidentally squashed spider for Christ’s sake.

John is the very antithesis of a suave spy.

“You know what, darling?” Harry says abruptly. “This will keep for tomorrow. I’ll be home in thirty minutes at most.”

“Really?” John sounds delighted. “I didn’t really eat at the party, what with all the rampant homophobia and male posturing, and I couldn’t stop worrying about you to eat here. Would you like me to make something or reheat last night’s left-overs?”

He wouldn’t offer that if he weren’t truly at home. The pub where his office is located at is at least twenty minutes away from their house.

“Whatever you think is best, darling.” Harry smiles. “But if we want to eat something edible, maybe we should go with the left-over lasagne.”

John cries in mock outrage and Harry laughs.

“I’m joking, sweetheart. It doesn’t matter to me, either way it will be delicious.” Harry checks his watch. “I promise I’ll be there in thirty minutes flat.”

“Promises, promises, Hen.” John says in a cheeky tone. “I’ll be waiting.”

Then he hangs up.

Harry stares at the blank screen of his phone blankly for a couple of seconds before his brain reboots. Then he shakes his head and heads back into Merlin’s office.

“I have to—”

“No.”

“Merlin, be reasonable, I have to make sure that—”

“Harry.” Merlin’s expression is as serious as can be. “Harry you’re not just Galahad right now. You’re Excalibur and that means you wield Kingsman as temporary leader. You cannot go to your home where a potential security threat lays in wait for you.”

“John is my _husband_.” Harry hisses. “I know him, and he’d rather kill himself before harming another human being.”

“The signal—”

“Fuck the bloody signal!” Harry growls. “It bounced around the world before bouncing off that address to some other country. It doesn’t mean anything!”

“Harry—”

“Don’t ‘Harry’ me when you’re trying to make me see my bloody husband as my enemy!” He snaps angrily at Merlin.

Merlin doesn’t back down. “Fine, Excalibur you cannot go to your house where an unknown element of unknown agency is waiting for you. It’s basic security!”

“Watch me.” Harry turns on his heel and makes to leave.

“Don’t make me dart you Excalibur.”

Harry freezes. “I’ll keep my feed on, I have my suit and my weapons. It’s no different from any other mission where I have to face unknown hostiles. Except this time, I’m at least on familiar territory.”

“He could kill you Harry.” Merlin’s expression softens though his stance is still firm. “I don’t want you to go into a situation where you’re emotionally compromised.”

“John would never harm me.” He sniffs. “Besides, the lad is the least likely to be a spy. He’s got shite reflexes, clumsy as a new-born calf, and all the secrecy of an open source code.”

“Fine.” Merlin grouses. “Go, but the moment he makes a wrong move, you better amnesia dart him and carry him back here or so help me Harry…”

“Keep your hair on, Merlin. It’s not my first mission.” He ducks the mug that Merlin throws at him and slips out the door neatly.

Eggsy heats up the lasagne in the oven quickly enough, the state-of-the-art kitchen appliance more than up to the task and goes off to search for a nice bottle of merlot. Thank God for Statesman’s excellent cars and Spritzer’s slightly terrifying driving skills. Got him home in ten minutes flat, just in time to get everything ready before Harry got home.

Henry had sounded like himself on the phone, slightly preoccupied for his precious tailor shop, but otherwise unconcerned. Maybe the shop is a front like the pub and Henry has no idea what’s going on. Henry wouldn’t lie to him like that.

Would he?

Eggsy hears the turn of the key in the front door and instinctively tenses. He wills himself to relax. There’s no cause for concern yet, he’ll talk to his husband and everything will turn out fine. Now if only he can believe it.

Henry takes off his oxfords at the door, padding into the kitchen with a whisper of his socks against the hardwood floors.

“Hi darling, what did you decide for dinner after all?” Henry leans against the door, hands in his pockets. Eggsy busies himself with the lasagne keeping his gaze down after an initial sweep over his body with his glasses.

“I reheated the leftovers.” Eggsy aims for nonchalant, even as he hears the list of weapons on his husband’s person that Gin rattles off in his ear. He fires off a quick grin at Henry, carefree as always, before grabbing the metal spatula from the utensil’s drawer.

Henry appears at Eggsy’s side in flash, covering his grip on the spatula with his warm hand. “Allow me, sweetheart.” He watches Henry turn his attention to the heated glassware, still trying to believe the best of his husband even though Gin reminds him of the different ways that spatula could kill Eggsy.

“I brought out the merlot I bought last month.” Eggsy says, pulling out the corkscrew out. He pretends not to notice Henry’s miniscule flinch at the sight of the sharper kitchen tool in his hands. “I know, I know, it doesn’t ‘pair with the meal’, but you know me—”

Henry abruptly drops the spatula and Eggsy in his concentrated distraction from the thought of Henry being part of Valentine’s plan, catches it effortlessly in his left hand. Eggsy stares at the metal spatula in his hand blankly before looking up at Henry. The world seems frozen, his heartbeat almost sluggish in his ears, silence almost oppressive. Then the moment breaks when Henry’s eyes widen infinitesimally with sudden realization. 

Eggsy drops the damning thing and straightens, striding towards the doorway as fast as he can.

“I gotta—”

“Excuse me, I must—”

Henry makes his escape towards the pantry while Eggsy hoofs it to the front door. He swipes his trainers from the shoe rack and tries to escape his home. His feet freeze in the doorway and he glances back inside, feeling slightly like Lot’s wife by the decision. With the heat vision on his glasses, he makes out his husband’s frame moving through the kitchen, the unmistakable shape of a Glock in his right hand.

Eggsy swallows the knot in his throat and flees, this time without glancing back. He’s not going to become a pillar of salt, not even for Henry.

Harry didn’t know what to expect from John. But it wasn’t this.

The moment he’d realized that John’s quick catch of the spatula in the air betrayed the true reflexes of his husband, he’d made a beeline for his weapon’s stash in the pantry. It isn’t that he expected a shoot-out with his beloved, but the familiar weight of the gun in his hand settled his nerves. No amount of fancy weaponry can replace its reliability, after all.

But when he comes out of the pantry, John is nowhere to be found.

“Darling?” He calls out, feeling like an utter hypocrite for using an endearment for his husband in this situation. Still silence answers. “John?”

He hears the screech of tires outside and swears. He holsters his weapon in the shoulder harness he’d elected to wear home, just in case, and sprints outside. Sure enough, John’s shiny Mercedes is peeling away from the curb just as he reaches outside. There’s no possible way he can catch up to John on foot, but he sets off anyway in a mad dash.

John must have caught sight of him in the rear-view mirror because he suddenly accelerates even more, leaving Harry panting on the curb side.

“I sent over a cab as soon as you made your idiotic decision to retreat to the pantry.” Merlin’s voice crackles over his glasses. “It should arrive right about… now.”

Sure enough, a familiar black cab pulls up next to him. Harry sucks in a mouthful of air and slides into the rear. “Follow the Mercedes.”

The driver, an unfamiliar red-haired lad, nods solemnly before hitting the gas pedal. Harry flattens against his seat at the sudden increase in speed and grits his teeth. He keeps an eye on the map on the screen between the driver and rear seat, watching with mixed emotions as they draw closer to John’s car.

Harry’s driver must have been a race car driver in another life because in less than ten minutes, they’re next to John’s shiny sedan. Harry makes another impromptu less-than-sound decision and promptly leans out the window to rap on John’s window, ignoring the wind that buffets his body.

John turns and does a double take. Emotions cycle through his expression too quickly for Harry to identify but settle on anger when he sees the Glock in Harry’s now exposed holster. He punches at the window controls and snarls, “You gonna shoot me, Henry? Is that how you wanna do this?”

“Sweetheart—”

“DON’T YOU SWEETHEART ME, HENRY SMITH!” John roars. Harry blinks and draws back inside the cab. His husband smiles humourlessly. “Got me tabbed already, Hen? See you in fucking hell, then.”

John unbuckles his seatbelt and an ominous feeling pools in Harry’s belly. John suddenly dives towards the passenger door of his car, a millisecond before the car explodes. Harry’s driver swears and swerves, the blast-proof exterior of the cab effective protection against the heat though Harry feels his face might be more than a bit singed from the slowed reaction of the windows slamming shut.

Not that he’s focused on that.

“TAKE ME BACK!” Harry roars, slamming his hands against the doors of the cab ineffectively. “TAKE ME BACK GODDAMMIT! THAT’S MY FUCKING HUSBAND!”

“I’m sorry, sir, I can’t—”

“TAKE ME BACK!”

“Sir, I can’t—”

“FUCK YOU AND FUCK YOUR—"

“Harry!”

He doesn’t pay attention to his friend’s voice, now planning on the best way to break the window and escape through.

“Harry!”

He wraps his handkerchief around his fist.

“Excalibur!”

He punches the window. It holds.

He hears Merlin’s voice still in his ear, but the words don’t register.

John is the only thing on his mind.

He punches the window again. A crack appears.

There’s a sudden prick on his neck, the only warning he gets before abrupt darkness claims him.


	7. On the warpath of justice (interesting choices are made)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy vs Harry
> 
> let the better man win

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember that scene in golden circle where Whiskey fought for a long ass time against both Eggsy and Harry? ajslask kinda drew inspiration from that. it's obvious Statesman was no slouch in the training either. 
> 
> (also very sorry but i can't write action or smut to save my life T-T) 
> 
> the last paragraph is the most explicit thing of this fic and its super cringe aksdljalkjs just pretend it wasn't there lmao I included it because I finally wanted them to have that moment, you'll get why ;)
> 
> also I have an ending for the Kingsman: SS arc with Valentine ready. but idk if anybody wants me to squeeze some GC in too :D just imagine the amnesia angst ughhhhh no promises on it being Harry amnesia either ;)

Eggsy sits in the bunker, staring sightlessly at Gin’s ranting image. He can’t believe it.

It’s been three hours and he still can’t believe it.

“Rum!” He startles and focuses on Gin, who’s looking at him with so much pity he wants to scream. “I’m sorry.”

He snorts. “Water under the bridge, innit.”

Gin shakes her head. “None of us could have known.” She scowls. “Hell, if one of us should have known it should have been me. His identity is clearly a cover and—"

“What?” Eggsy’s voice is steady. “What do you mean by ‘clearly a cover’?”

She rubs the back of her neck. “Eggs—”

“Don’t patronize me, Gin. Not now.” He warns her in a low voice. “I ain’t got the time or patience for that shit.”

“Fine.” She grimaces. “I ran his details again through our database while you were, uh, busy and realized what I should have seen in the beginning. His identity is too perfect: estranged family, well off, no particular distinction of any kind and with the clear element of digital fabrication that was done so well I completely missed it on the first check.”

“So what you’re saying is… Henry isn’t Henry?” Eggsy says slowly. Gin nods hesitantly. He swears, loudly and several times.

When he’s collected his composure again, he faces Gin with a blank expression. “Do you have any leads on Kingsman and Valentine?”

“No, Valentine seems to be freaking out over King’s death.” Gin turns to her tablet. “No clear coordination on his next move. No info on Kingsman HQ, either.”

“They might have a tunnel like we do.” Eggsy muses. “It could lead out to somewhere beneath the city proper or farther out.”

“Kingsman Tailors has been around for centuries, far longer than Statesman. It’s reasonable that they had a better chance of putting up something complex.” Gin agrees. “They might not even be in a bunker.”

Eggsy thinks of the elegant cut of Henry’s suits, the disguised blade under the shiny oxfords, and the hidden darts in the expensive looking watch. “They seem to lean towards the finer things in life. Can’t imagine a bunch of toffs in suits stuck underground.”

He slaps the tops of his thighs. “seems like there’s one sure way to get information about Kingsman that we haven’t considered yet.”

Gin scowls at him. “Egg— ** _Rum_** , no.”

The codename makes it hard to ignore the command, but not impossible. As Gin very well knows.

“If it weren’t for my stupidity, it would have been the first directive for more information about Kingsman. He’s a known agent!”

“You’re emotionally compromised and I’m not about to send you out where you can get killed!” Gin’s expression softens. “I know you’re the best, Rum. If you weren’t, Champ wouldn’t have left you to be a mostly autonomous arm of Statesman with just me as your tech support.” She quells his burgeoning words with a look. “ _But_ , that doesn’t mean that you’re invincible and to be honest, ‘Henry’ doesn’t look too shabby either.”

Eggsy is suddenly struck by the image of his-wait is he even married then? Well, his whatever leaning out of the cab window, shoulder holsters making that stupid gorgeous man look hotter than hell. Not even the thought of Henry, or whatever the hell his name is, using it to make him submit had smothered the irrational desire that he’d felt. So he’d blown up the fucking car and hoofed it on foot, watching as the cab with the man he’d thought was his boring tailor husband flee like a bat out of hell.

“I need answers, Gin. _We_ need answers.”

“Eggsy, Valentine’s plot keeps getting more complicated the more I dig into it.” Ginger says, her face drawn, exhaustion evident in the heavy bags under her eyes. “We can’t go in guns blazing with this.”

“What?” Eggsy frowns at her. “What did he do now?”

“The Princess of Sweden has gone missing.” Ginger sighs. “Barely a month has passed since Valentine had that meeting with the President and now the Princess is missing. Other royals from different monarchies are also either missing or have had some sort of contact with Valentine. I don’t like this.”

“You haven’t been able to find what he’s planning yet?”

She shakes her head. “No, there’s nothing on the company servers.” She sighs. “I’ve combed through emails and files but nothing. He’s always so vague with the emails and none of those who reply ever say anything either.”

Eggsy clucks his tongue. “So Kingsman is still our one valid lead for the moment.”

Ginger facepalms. “No, Eggsy that is NOT what I’m saying at all.”

“Well I say we need to investigate.” Eggsy turns to the array of sleek weaponry on the wall, calculating gleam in his eye. “And I know just how I’m gonna do it.”

He picks out five bracelets with different size beads, though refusing to take the explosive grenade beads, and the lasso. The lasso isn’t his favourite, that dubious honour goes to that insane Whiskey bloke, and it has its uses just not one he needs right now. Absentmindedly, he switches on the feed on his glasses as he looks over the rest of the weapons lest he forget during the thick of things. He takes another of the bulletproof jackets, knowing his Kevlar infused jeans will cover his legs, and switches out his simple watch for one much more complex. Apart from activating the beads on his bracelet to amnesia mist, stun gas, and nanite trackers, it also functions as one hell a Taser.

It’s not one of the things available to most agents though and Eggsy had just earned the right to it a couple of months back, but if there’s ever the time to pull out the big guns, it’s now.

“I wouldn’t take the watch if I were you.” Gin warns, arms crossed over her chest angrily. “and as soon as your ass leaves this bunker, I’m telling Champ.”

Eggsy rolls his eyes. “I’m not going rogue Gin, calm your damn tits.”

“Explain why you’re taking the only device capable of blocking the nanite receptors in your bloodstream then?” Ginger raises an eyebrow. “Besides, you’re setting off, alone, to face off against your lover from another agency. Excuse me if I have doubts.”

“ _Becauuuse_ Gin, if Henry is part of an agency that can go toe to toe with you then I’m not letting him get any recordings of me or my gadgets.” Eggsy rolls his eyes in a huff. “So long as it’s activated, I’m confident none of Henry’s devices will transmit either.”

Gin purses her lips before nodding begrudgingly. “Fine. But if you don’t come back online after half an hour, I’m calling Champ.”

“Fair enough, in half an hour I’m either dead or captured so it won’t matter if Champ wants to kill me then.” He grins before leaving the bunker, ignoring Gin’s sputtering on the screen.

Despite his bold words in front of Gin, as he makes his way back to the pub, he starts to second guess himself. Which according to his past 10-year experience, is never a good thing. But Gin had made some good points, his husband hadn’t seemed like some green rookie and fuck that sexy as hell move to lean out of a moving vehicle took some serious balls that either someone too new or too experienced had.

Despite Eggsy’s unprecedented 10 year success streak, his husband might be his downfall, ironic as it may seem. But he also knows that if Henry’s agency is any good as his, right now they’re coddling over Henry for the very small amount of heat blast he’d received before the undoubtedly blast proof windows slammed in place. If Eggsy gonna make his move and lay in wait for him, the time is now.

He squares his shoulders in the lift, tracing his fingers over the necklace that he’d never worn to his home in all 5 years he’s been in England, and stuffs the niggling guilt straight down where it won’t get in the way. He’s focused on his way out, managing just a curt nod to the bewildered Spritzer, and slides into the Uber he’d called earlier.

Statesman had more than enough cars at his disposal to replace his Mercedes, but it would certainly put Henry’s instincts on alert to see an unfamiliar car near his home.

Jesus, maybe if Gin would unearth the bloke’s real name, he’d stop feeling like a real wanker for thinking of the man he’d thought was the love of his life like a mark. The Uber leaves him at a healthy two blocks away, startling him from his reverie and he gives the driver a thankful grin before getting out.

Once out he approaches his home with his usual careless stroll, knowing that his neighbours would think nothing of seeing him out and about as he meanders around the block. He doesn’t see any snipers on the rooftops, the zoom on his lenses more than up to the challenge to scan his surroundings, nor does the house have any heat signatures within.

Excellent.

He smiles to himself. Could it be that easy?

He goes up to his doorway, scanning the steps and behind the door before getting close to discard the possibilities of a bomb, and stuffs his key into the hole. The key turns, surprisingly, and he steps into the house that had become his home since he embarked in that stupid relationship that only served to chew up his heart and spit out mangled beyond repair.

“I’m going home.” Harry repeats for what feels like the fiftieth time. Both Merlin and the doctor ignore him.

Excalibur benefits his arse. Merlin just tried to make it seem like he was in charge when really that bald wanker pulls all the shots.

“I’m going home.” Harry shouts. Both men stop their bickering and turn to face him with a bemused look. “John is probably dead. The security risk is practically non-existent at this point.”

And fuck if that doesn’t make his chest feel like it’s been trampled by a team of elephants.

“We couldn’t find a body in the accident, Harry.” Merlin repeats with an exasperated tone. “The lad is still out there, still a risk, and you’re still not taking it seriously!”

“if he’s alive—” Harry’s voice breaks but thankfully neither comments on it, so he barrels on. “If John is alive, then I’m still sure that he’s not a danger to me. _I_ was the first one to take a gun in my hand. John just ran away. He exploded his car probably just to remove the tracer and escape from me in one move.”

He gets up from the hospital bed. It was ridiculous, the heat had barely singed him, and they had him down like he was about to drop into a coma.

“I am going home to mourn the five-year relationship with a wonderful man I fell in love with, and I want zero fucking interruptions unless Chester bloody King resurrects from his grave and points towards his murderer.” He laces his words with as much dignity as he can muster when he’s quite aware that he’s only millimetres away from a mental breakdown.

Not that it would be unwarranted, but it would be very un-British of him. Stiff upper lip and all that nonsense.

He makes it all the way to the train’s platform before Merlin stops him.

“Harry!” Merlin says with a loud exhale. He straightens immediately and acts as though he wasn’t running behind Harry. “Take the gadgets at least. Gun, rainmaker, the works. Just in case.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Merlin, have you ever seen me without the watch, Rainmaker and the damn glasses in these last twenty years?”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “You’re insisting on solitude when you should be here, _safe,_ so excuse me if I want to be extra cautious.”

Harry doesn’t dignify that with a response and settles himself into the seat of the shuttle. Before the doors close, Merlin leans in, worried expression now on full display.

“Reconsider, Harry. Please.”

“I just need to process.” Harry looks down at his left hand, the gold band winking at him almost mockingly. “Just... Ten hours, that’s all I ask.”

Merlin stares at him but Harry doesn’t look away from the band that had become an intricate part of his identity, cover name be damned. In the end, the bald man just nods and steps away, letting the shuttle close its doors and begin its trek to the shop.

Harry allows his mind wander, remembering in the relative safety the fond moments he’d shared with John before it all went to hell. Logic tells him that John is most likely not even named John, his name as much a cover as Henry is for himself, but it doesn’t stop Harry from wanting what he’d had before it slipped from his grasp.

He remembers the time in Kathmandu Valley, watching the butterflies and seeing the happy smile on John’s face as Harry had waxed poetic over the different species. The blush on John’s cheeks when Harry had said that Teinopalpus imperialis reminded him of John’s eyes because of the deep green on their wings. He remembers when they were in China and John dragged them off to the Guangzhou Kyushu fabric market, babbling about how Harry needed to broaden his horizons and ‘live a little’. When they were in Bolivia and happened to coincide with the Oruro Carnival, John’s green eyes sparkling happily as they watched the brightly coloured dancers and Harry had felt his heart was about to burst with love.

It doesn’t matter what name Harry goes by or the one John goes by, so long as his love is still that tender sweet loving man with devilish smile, Harry will always be head over heels in love with him. He sighs, the slight hiss of the train doors bringing his attention back to grim reality.

He straightens his cuffs on the ascent to the shop, fixing his glasses on his face and wipes away his emotions again. He nods to Dagonet as he leaves, the older tailor making a bewildered expression at Harry’s unconventionally early departure.

There’s a cab outside the shop, thankfully, and he folds himself into the backseat with a brief greeting to the driver. They make their way to his empty home in silence. No doubt the driver picking up on his sour disposition.

He’s not too far gone to forgo his usual gratitude to the driver but that’s about all he manages before he gets out of the cab. He makes it all the way to his doorstep before he freezes suddenly, struck by the magnitude of the shit storm that has unfolded.

It hadn’t quite sunk in, not in HQ where it seemed everything was as he’d left it nor during the chase earlier when he’d ridden the adrenaline high. But now, faced with the empty house, lights off and unlikely to ever be waiting for him with that welcoming glow that meant his husband was there, now things seem suddenly, unbearably real.

He wants to scream, for once just not worry about what the neighbours would say or what a gentleman should do. He wants to cry, just sob it at all out until he can finally stop feeling like someone fired a missile in his chest and left him to die. But he does none of those things.

Galahad had long forgotten how to do anything other than kill and Harry had only relearned how to love five years ago. Grief and mourning of this magnitude had never been applied to either part of him. So he squares his shoulders, settles his Rainmaker firmly under his left arm and stabs his key into the door.

No other choice but to plough on onwards.

He goes inside and stops, letting the door close behind him with a soft snick. The weight in his chest doubles, the empty silence echoing in his house oppressive and he’s just about to toe off his Oxfords so he can empty out his bar when a shiver runs down his spine, alerting him to his sudden company.

“Welcome home.” He says in a deceptively casual tone, turning slowly around to face the intruder.

John stands in the doorway of their sitting room, slouching against the frame as if they were having a regular conversation after Harry’s return from work. Only the grim expression on his face and the trainers still on his feet mark the difference.

“You’re not dead.” Harry says after a tense beat of silence.

Green eyes narrow and he winces. He might have phrased that a little better.

“No.” John says. “And you’re here, unguarded.”

Harry tries to remain optimistic.

“I’m sorry for—”

John cuts him off with a derisive snort. “Don’t.” He straightens from his position and tugs something at his wrist. Harry grips his umbrella tighter, hoping it wouldn’t come to blows. “Now, _babe_ , we’re going to have to take a stroll downtown.”

John flings out his hand and Harry instinctively unfurls Rainmaker for cover. Whatever John had thrown at him explodes in a loud bang but doesn’t perforate the bulletproof fabric, though a slight pink mist rises from the floor where the things fall.

Harry barely has time to slap his handkerchief against his mouth, activating the mask function, before John is upon him. Adrenaline pumps in his veins and suddenly, he’s not Harry. He’s Galahad and he hasn’t failed a mission in the last twenty years.

Eggsy had had a plan. A simple plan: go in, wait out Henry and knock him out with discrete beads safely activated at a distance. And then that bloody wanker had to go and look all fucking pathetic when he got home.

Seemed to Eggsy it wouldn’t have been very good guy of him to take such a sad looking bloke unawares.

So his plan imploded and instead he’s improvising. And he’s improvising wildly. With not that very good of a success rate.

Which of course, means that Henry is nearly beating his arse into last week.

Nearly, let that be _very clear_.

Eggsy might not be able to land a good blow on his ~~husband~~ opponent but at least Henry hasn’t knocked him out yet. He blocks another one of Henry’s viciously strong punches and catches a glimpse of the flash of the other man’s watch. He grabs the older man’s arm and twists, figuring out the contraption easily and empties the darts into the wall with loud thumps. He dances away again before Henry can grab at his throat with his other arm and activates his stun beads with a quick jerk of his wrist.

He throws the handful of beads at Henry, though the older man easily evades them without letting the beads touch his skin. Inhalation is out of the question, Henry somehow producing a shimmery mask that covers the entire bottom of his face since the beginning of the fight.

He doesn’t let Henry get a chance to regroup and throws himself back into the fray with all he has. Eggsy cycles through all he was taught and what he picked up in the streets and still, _still,_ Henry keeps going. Keeps parrying, keeps blocking, keeps hitting him. They grapple with each other; their fight having left the front hallway almost immediately.

Henry throws out a kick and Eggsy twists out of the way. Henry’s foot goes straight through the cabinet of heirloom china that Henry had once laughingly said he wanted to pawn off to the closest vintage shop.

_Focus Eggsy!_

He shakes off the intrusive thought and shoves himself at Henry, slamming the older man to the kitchen ground as they fall through the open entryway. Henry twists under him, flipping them neatly to reverse their positions.

Eggsy frees himself with a violent jerk, ripping away Henry’s elegant suit jacket, and leaving the other male with just the slim-fitting white button shirt, shoulder holsters carrying gleaming black pistols, and black slacks. He pales a little at the reminder that Henry is definitely leaning towards a more lethal approach but hardens his resolve.

That just means he can’t let the other man get a chance to use it.

He jerks to the kitchen countertop, grabbing the block of knives impulsively and lets the first one fly. It falls between Henry’s feet, point first in the hardwood floor and quivering from the force he uses.

“Yield.”

Henry blinks at Eggsy almost blankly before making a move towards the holster.

“Don’t.” Eggsy growls out.

Henry ignores his order and places a hand on the butt of the gun.

Eggsy lets the next knife land scant centimetres away from Henry’s ear.

For a brief moment, Eggsy feels like he’s finally cornered Henry, finally gained the upper hand. Then the other man is pulling out the gun and firing in one swift move.

Silencer or not, the shot rings out in their kitchen and Eggsy stares at the wrong end of the barrel in shock before looking up at the once familiar brown eyes.

Eyes which are slowly widening in horror, as if just now realizing what he’s been doing.

He rips off the mask from his face, the silvery cover loosening into a silk handkerchief. 

“John—” Henry chokes out before he ejects the magazine from the gun and throws it aside. He does the same with the other gun, leaving his holsters empty. “I’m not—I don’t—”

“Ya shot at me.” Eggsy whispers. “Ya really shot at me.”

Henry lifts his hands over his head, face full of despair. “I’m sorry, John. I-I can’t do this. I can’t fight you anymore.”

Eggsy drops the block of knives with a loud clatter and stalks over to Henry, fully intending to let the other man have it this time. He clenches his fist, aiming straight at that perfect mouth.

He doesn’t let the blow land, freezing his fist centimetres away from Henry’s lips. Henry hadn’t flinched, instead standing his ground and looking at him straight in the eye with that same look of anguish from earlier.

“You’re such a fucking wanker, Henry.” Eggsy swears before grabbing Henry by the lapels. Henry closes his eyes, resigned, and that just won’t fucking do at all. “fuck you, Henry!”

He pushes Henry against the wall and kisses him, just as fervent as that day in Mexico when they’d met. Henry’s mouth eagerly opens under his, quickly turning the kiss filthy and wet and fuck if it’s not turning Eggsy all the way up to a thousand.

Eggsy moans into the other man’s mouth, pressing into that familiar stranger that somehow ratchets him into stratospheric levels of desire. Henry doesn’t let him keep command of their kiss, moving Eggsy’s mouth to better plunder within, twining his fingers in Eggsy’s hair with just enough of a bite of pain to make tears of delicious pleasure spring up in the corners of his eyes.

“Henry, oh my fucking—”

Henry takes his mouth off Eggsy just long enough to say, “Harry.”

All of Eggsy’s blood is currently pooled in his cock so he forgives himself immediately when he just says, “Wha?”

Henry chuckles before suckling a mark into Eggsy’s arched neck. “Harry, my darling John, that’s the name you should have been moaning these past five years.”

What the hell is wrong with Eggsy that _that_ makes his idiotic cock pulse almost angrily with desire?

“Fuck, _fuck, Harry—”_ Eggsy flushes at the sound of his own voice. He sounds absolutely wrecked already and Hen- _Harry_ still hasn’t even touched anything under his clothes.

A sliver of reason suddenly edges itself into Eggsy’s lust addled mind.

“Harry, I’m – oh _fuck—”_ he trails off when Harry tugs his shirt off leaving blazing kisses over his shoulders and plucking at his nipples in a deliciously distracting way. “Eggsy!” he finally shouts desperately.

Harry stills. “I beg your pardon?”

Eggsy bites his lip and looks at Harry, slightly nervous now. “M real name is Eggsy.”

Nonplussed, Harry blinks at him as it computes in his mind. Eggsy understands though, with the way his cock feels like it’s being strangled in his jeans, he no doubts that Harry’s remaining brain cells are working triple to catch up.

“Eggsy,” Harry rumbles in his posh as fuck voice and that right there set Eggsy on fire all over again.

He lurches forward and captures Harry’s lips in a sloppy kiss, one that Harry returns with wholehearted enthusiasm. Pressing forward, he feels the peaks of his nipples rub against the contrasting textures of the leather of Harry’s holster and the soft expensive fabric of his dress shirt and fuck if he doesn’t feel like a teenager just about to blow.

“Harry, where? Here?” he manages to pant out. Harry looks past his shoulder before turning back to him with a filthy grin of promise.

“Let’s relive some old memories, shall we?” Then Harry presses him backward with a hard kiss until the back of Eggsy’s thighs hit the kitchen table.

_Fuck yes._

Harry had been devastated to blink away the adrenaline haze of Galahad and see the gun in his hands aimed at the love of his life.

But fuck if he can’t help but be glad that it somehow got them to this.

To seeing _Eggsy_ spread out over the table again, this time no lies between them, just them. Eggsy with his loud moans of pleasure and flattering responsive body. Eggsy with a full body flush and a weeping cock that Harry _needs_ to taste.

Maybe it’s that last thrill of adrenaline still coursing through Harry’s body or maybe its the knowledge of finally being just Harry with Eggsy or god knows why but that first taste of Eggsy makes Harry moan indecently around his mouthful.

He quickly sets to work, knowing when to flick his tongue against the slit, when to suck, when to slide the hot length over his spit slick lips, and soon Eggsy is a mess of slurred swears and trembling limbs.

“Harry, I gonna— _oh fuck, Harry!”_ Harry doesn’t relent his assault and soon there’s that welcome warm rush of salty semen down his throat. He swallows and gives Eggsy’s deflating cock a last peck before letting him loose. Eggsy shudders, body completely slack against the table.

“Swear I’m just getting me wind back you demon.” Eggsy raises his head and gives Harry the stink-eye. “I’m gonna get that ass even if I die from overstimulation.”

Harry coughs. “That won’t be necessary, dear.” He feels his cheeks flush as he tucks himself back into his pants. Eggsy looks at him in surprise before realization sets in and he smirks.

“I’m so good I got you coming without touching you, yeah?” Eggsy laughs before abruptly becoming serious. “Oh shit!”

He scrambles to sit up on the table and brings his watch in front of him. Harry frowns but before he can ask what’s wrong, there’s a knock on the front door.


	8. Two is better than one (legitimacy of cooperation)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The masks are gone and finally some things are brought to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slinks in shyly*
> 
> heyy guys, it's been a month ey? my real life went to shit and without going into much detail i had to deal with a divorce, my car breaking down, my power getting shut off, getting sick, and other shit lol. It's finally stabilizing so i decided to jump in and finally churn out this chapter that's been languishing in my drafts. 
> 
> I don't think i'll make a sequel after this so we're nearing the end :(( i hope you guys enjoy this chapter considering i spent over a month to produce it XD

Eggsy freezes, his fingers on the watch face stilling. They share a wary glance before Harry grabs one of the guns from the floor, jamming the magazine in with one quick movement.

“Stay here.” Harry hisses at Eggsy before striding off. He doesn’t look back to see if Eggsy heeds his order, all attention focused on the door. He looks through the peephole. The flashing lights of a cop’s car illuminates the figures of their nosy neighbour Mrs. Moore and a cop at their front door. The cop knocks again on the door, his expression bored while Mrs. Moore barely disguises her rampant curiosity.

“Who is it?” Eggsy’s whisper makes him flinch. He turns to give Eggsy a dirty look before tucking his gun in his waistband, absolutely not allowing himself to become distracted by the sight of Eggsy in boxers with only Harry’s suit jacket covering him. Eggsy grins back unrepentant, brandishing Harry’s other gun cheerfully. “Got your back, luv.”

Harry rolls his eyes fondly. “It won’t be necessary, dear. Now hide that thing.” Eggsy nods, tucking his arm behind his back, gun easily out of sight. Harry shakes his head before turning back to open the door. “Good evening officer.”

Mrs. Moore speaks over the cop. “We heard the most dreadful noises coming from your house! Like a gunshot!”

The cop shoots her an exasperated look. “We received a noise complaint, sir. It’s routine to check in.”

Eggsy’s hand covers Harry’s on the door and he pulls the door wider. “So sorry, Mrs. Moore. We got a bit carried away.” He laughs, tucking himself under Harry’s outstretched arm. “We’ll try to keep it down.”

Given Eggsy’s state of undress, the cop just snorts and turns away without another word leaving behind a sputtering Mrs. Moore at their front door. Harry turns to look at Mrs. Moore blithely and she subsides, turning to leave with a mumbled apology.

When she’s finally gone inside her home, Harry shuts the door and turns to look at Eggsy. “Was that really necessary, sweetheart?”

Eggsy smirks. “Made them go away, though.” Cheeky little brat. Eggsy turns serious quickly enough. “We gotta talk, Haz.”

Dread pools in Harry’s stomach. He’d thought their troubles were past them. After all his Eggsy would hardly be the danger to Kingsman if he didn’t take the shot at Harry. But Eggsy’s usual affable expression is more serious than Harry’s ever seen.

“What’s wrong, Eggsy?”

“I have nanite trackers in my bloodstream.” Eggsy says bluntly. “Statesman injects them in their agents because they have a … history with agents going rogue. They serve to track down agents and so long as we receive our monthly injection of them, also serve as micro-transmitters and receivers so they can be in contact with us at all time. The receivers send signals to the implant behind my ear, transforming it into sounds without the need of an earbud or something of that sort while the transmitters pick up my voice and sounds around me to send back to my handler.”

Harry stares in horror. He can’t imagine the complete invasion of privacy at the scope that Eggsy is speaking of. It’s bad enough he always has his glasses with him, but he can always take them off if he wishes.

“I’ve been with the agency for ten years as of last month and so I’m now a senior agent, which means they trust me with this.” Eggsy points at his watch. “This deactivates the nanites temporarily, though once my handler realized I’m offline completely, she probably already began to hack through the encryption to activate them. What I’m trying to say is, I can’t stay Harry.”

“At Kingsman, we can—”

“No, Harry.” Eggsy’s eyes are sad even as he smiles. “I’m not really a posh wanker type of spy.”

“Eggsy, you can’t—”

“If I go with you Harry, I’ll bring Statesman down on you.” Eggsy looks away. “I was already on an investigation into you, due to the Valentine thing, but I’m sure you’ll be able to prove your innocence soon enough. If I go with you, there’s no possibility of Statesman stopping to hear what you have to say.”

“The valentine thing?” Harry repeats in confusion.

“Yeah, Valentine, as in Richmond Valentine. You know, the reason why Chester King was in Paris.” Eggsy frowns at the lack of recognition in Harry’s eyes. “Wait, so King didn’t mention Valentine to you blokes at all?”

“Not that I’m aware of. And I’m temporary head of Kingsman so I should know about it.” Anything that involves Kingsman has to go through Merlin first and Merlin would never let Harry stay in the dark if there’s something that affects the agency. “What does the Valentine thing entail?”

“Hold on,” Eggsy taps at his watch before hurrying into the kitchen. He returns with his glasses firmly perched on his nose and fully dressed.

Harry’s own glasses suddenly erupt in chatter with a loud squawk. “Harry! Bloody finally. I’ve been trying to reach you—”

“Hold on, Merlin.” Harry taps the side of his glasses, muting Merlin’s outraged noise. “Eggsy, what’s going on?”

“I shut off the scrambler and activated my nanites again. If no one in Kingsman knew about Valentine, then Statesman has to know immediately.” Eggsy gets a distant look on his face, a familiar one that said he was listening to something only he can hear. “Gin, Kingsman was not in the loop with Valentine. Find out how Chester was brought on board with Valentine- What do you mean you-? I—ugh, fine.”

Harry opens his mouth but before he can speak, Eggsy’s glasses project an image onto the wall across from them. A slender, dark-skinned woman with an angry look on her face stares down at Harry.

“This place is as secure as can be and will have to do.” She says in a terse American accent. “Now, _Harry,_ let’s talk.”

Harry coughs, trying to hide the shiver of unease that not even Merlin managed to produce. He doesn’t get a chance to reply before Merlin overrides his mute command and he feels his face flush with embarrassment.

“WHAT IN THE ABSOLUTE HELL IS GOING ON GALAHAD?”

Eggsy and Gin look at him with matching raised eyebrows.

“Merlin, I’m in the middle of a brief session and-“

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN A ‘BRIEF’ YOU’RE KINGSMAN AND THE ONLY ONE WHO EVEN GIVES YOUR IGNORANT ARSE INFORMATION IS ME!”

“Merlin, not the time.” Harry pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to ignore Eggsy’s muffled snicker. “Eggsy is there any way that Merlin could connect into the call with…” he trails off gesturing at the unfamiliar woman still judging Harry from her projected image on the wall.

Eggsy grins. “Gin, you got it?”

She rolls her eyes and turns, typing with a concentrated look on her face before turning back to face them. Less than a second later, Merlin appears next to her image.

“What is this, Galahad?” Harry notices that Merlin is still using his normal code-name. He shakes his head, trying to concentrate back to the matter at hand. “They have answers to what King was doing before he got his head blown off in Paris.” Eggsy shuffles in place and Merlin scowls at him. Harry clears his throat hurriedly bringing attention back to himself. “Anyway, ‘Gin’ is it?”

“No.” She says curtly. “It’s Ginger Ale. Now, Eggsy set up his blockers for everything outside the house so there shouldn’t be any other devices other than Harry and Eggsy’s transmitting anything.”

“I’m sorry but how do I know I can trust you?” Merlin says, arms folded and scowl in place.

Ginger Ale smiles thinly. “You don’t.”

Silence falls.

“So anyway,” Eggsy says in a faux cheery voice. “About Valentine.”

Ginger flicks another glance at Harry before continuing. “Valentine is a climate change enthusiast. A very active millionaire that always funds projects to save the earth and whatnot. He’s been under our surveillance for about six years now, since he invested in an Esthonian laboratory that produced a mutant virus that killed all plant life that came in contact with it.”

Harry looked at Merlin aghast. That sounds like something they should have found out about. Merlin’s expression is sour, answering non-verbally Harry’s doubt whether he was informed.

“We dealt with the virus and destroyed all the research. It’s gone from the world for now.” She pauses and gives Eggsy a warm smile. “Thanks to our talented Rum.”

Eggsy blushes and Harry bites back a smile at the adorable look he paints. To think, this man is the deadly secret agent he’d fought earlier.

“Anyway,” Ginger’s expression goes flinty again and she continues as if she’d never stopped. “He started to make some noise among some of our informants about a new initiative to reverse climate change, but we didn’t pay much attention until he met with our President.” They all grimace, thinking about the current asshat in power and the consequences of a megalomaniac joining forces with him. “That’s when our investigation into his current actions opened officially.”

“Why have we not heard of this, Merlin?” Harry frowns. “Even if Chester was trying to keep it quiet, you should have picked up on it.”

Ginger makes a moue of discomfort. “Well, it appears that Chester was actively giving Valentine the information to keep Kingsman unaware.”

“What?” All three men exclaim at the same time.

“You knew Kingsman wasn’t aware-“

“How is that even possible-“

“Kingsman security is impene-“

Ginger rolls her eyes. “I kept looking at the files Eggsy managed to extract before Merlin shut his backdoor down and found some discrepancies between what King’s files held and Valentine’s.” She leans towards her monitor and pushes up her glasses on her nose. “He falsified his locations several times to meet with Valentine and somehow gave his IT people access to Kingsman databases.”

Merlin gapes. “That’s just- not _possible_.”

“Well guess what, it happened.” Ginger replies curtly. “He gave all your databases to Valentine so the only reason why they haven’t moved against any of your people is because they’re sure you have no clue as to what Valentine is.”

Harry blinks, too stunned to even speak.

“Wait, you said _Valentine’s_ files?” Merlin asks, his eyebrows reaching what would have been his hairline.

Ginger rolls her eyes again. “Yes, now do keep up.” Merlin scowls but subsides. “Anyway, I haven’t been able get root access to his mainframe, so my files are still very limited, mostly things of low clearance and so most of the information I’ve been pulling is from their emails. I’ve noticed that every so often he gets in contact with more people, politicians, celebrities, scientists, etc. And I’ve also noticed that after he gets in contact with some people, they disappear.”

Harry sucks in a breath. Merlin had added the disappearance of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge as an assignment to Gawain before King had gotten his head blown off. Too much correct timing to consider thinking that it’s a coincidence.

“We still haven’t been able to discover what exactly is going on but we’ve managed to find a pattern for who he contacts. Basically, anybody of importance: millionaires, tech geniuses, artists, politicians. Our covers—” Ginger gets cut off by a sudden loud thump and she grimaces.

A grizzled older man, complete with white hair and moustache, pokes his head onto the screen. “Who’s this Ginger Ale?” he narrows his eyes at the Eggsy and Harry. “John?”

Eggsy shuffles and coughs, looking down at his feet as he mumbles something.

“Speak up, son.”

Eggsy wants to die, this is exactly what Champ had told him couldn’t happen.

“I had to break my cover, sir.” Eggsy mumbles again.

“Still not understanding a word you’re saying, John.” Champ’s voice is hard, so there’s a pretty even chance he’s heard Eggsy. Just wants to make him squirm.

Well, it’s fucking workin’.

“I had to break my cover, sir.” Eggsy raises his head and says defiantly. Champ’s eyes flick between him and Harry, who held himself with that same coiled tension from their earlier fight. Except this time in Eggsy’s defence. “My cover came across my mark and he recognized me.”

Champ holds his gaze for several more beats before he smiles. “Well, my boy, does that mean our Kingsman cousins are finally ready to cooperate?”

Ginger chokes in the background and something on Merlin’s side breaks with a loud crack. But Eggsy focuses on Champ. He knows he’s still on the tightrope.

“I can’t speak for—”

“Kingsman will happily cooperate with Statesman in this and any other operations.” Harry says firmly. “I have the capacity to make that decision for Kingsman for now, but it is unlikely to be revoked after I let go of leadership.”

Champ grins. “That’s the spirit, son.”

Harry’s left eye twitches minutely and Eggsy has to bite back a snort at the impassive expression that hides Harry’ s displeasure at being called ‘son’.

“Now,” Champ turns to Gin. “I read the brief you left for me, Ginger. From what I can see none of our prepared covers are good to go for something of this magnitude.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks. “John’s cover was so water-tight that not even our database could crack it.”

Gin shrugs. “I created the identity from the moment he joined us so he’s had contact with lots of people that can back his identity up. The thing is none of our prepared covers have the necessary aplomb to lure in Valentine other than some scientists. But those have no agent training.”

Merlin’s expression slowly splits into a small grin. “You said millionaires, right?”

“Oh no.” Harry mutters beneath his breath. Eggsy turns to look at him sharply.

“Yes, we need a millionaire with impressive connections.” Gin turns to her monitor. “At the very least a millionaire who’s either active in charity works or has some sort of talent.”

Merlin grins. “I’ve got just the person for it, but we should plan this out back in Kingsman HQ.” He sobers. “Talking about covers makes me uneasy even if you reassure me that your encryption is un-hackable.”

Champ grins and makes significant eye contact with Eggsy. “Good, Rum I leave you in charge of this op. But keep Ginger here in the loop.” He waves a hand and disconnects the video call without consulting Ginger.

“Merlin, we’ll be there in an hour maximum.” Harry turns to Eggsy and cradles his cheek. Without waiting for a response from the other man, Harry cuts the call with him too. “We need to get cleaned up.”

Eggsy feels his cheek warm at the reminder that they’d finally rekindled what he’d thought lost. He looks up at Harry with a small smile and covers his husband’s hand with his own. “I’m glad we can finally be ourselves.”

Something darkens Harry’s face in a micro-expression too quick for Eggsy to analyse but he smiles quickly and dispels it. “I am very grateful to finally be communicating with each other.” He pulls Eggsy into his arms, making him sigh in contentment as he embraces his husband. Like coming home after a long, weary mission.

“I love you.” Harry’s chest under Eggsy’s head rumbles with the quiet declaration and he lifts his head again to look at him in the eye. Eggsy’s breath hitches at the naked adoration in Harry’s eyes.

“I love you too, Harry.” Harry’s eyes brighten and shimmer suspiciously before he’s capturing Eggsy’s lips in a kiss.

It’s never been so sweet to kiss the love of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments much appreciated <3 thank you!


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